Crisscross
by Stained In Negativity
Summary: Sora, depressed by the thought of her parents’ divorce, finds comfort in Tai. Then there’s Matt, who understands her pain. But the road to love and recovery isn't easy, as Sora will come to know. [Taiora, Sorato, AU]
1. Prologue: Darkest Corner

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Digimon: Digital Monsters'.

Summary: Sora, depressed by the thought of her parents' divorce, finds comfort in Tai. Then there's Matt, who understands her pain. But the road to love and recovery isn't painless, as Sora will come to know. Sorato/Taiora

* * *

**Crisscross  
**Written By: Stained In Negativity  
_Prologue:  
Darkest Corner_

* * *

From my dark corner in my room, I watch as she noiselessly shuts the door, a hand placed on the knob and another pressed against the edge. When she hears the low click that assures her that of the closed door, she does not hesitate to lock it.

I manage to stifle a scuff. How many times have I had to see the girl repeat the same procedure once everyday? She can be so predictable. But who can hold her responsible? I always become aware of everything she does. She can't scramble into out of the room, she can't hide from me.

Now the second step commences. The girl stands in front of the door, hands on her hips, a grimace formed on her gorgeous face. Orange strands frame her face and illuminate the suspicion in her auburn eyes. They glide from object to object in the room, searching for anything that seems out of place.

She was furious one incident where her mother had stepped into the room merely to collect the dirty clothes. When the sun kissed girl found out, she frantically searched her room, attempting to find anything misplaced, something that her mother would have come across and taken. Then she demanded that her mother ask before entering her room.

Obviously, the sun kissed girl does not like trespassers.

Something always tells me to hide when the auburn eyes float into my corner, penetrating. It constantly seems as if the eyes stare right into mine, as if she's aware of my presence but in no way mentions me. However, I show no unease and return the glare. After a few seconds of that, the eyes move along to inspect the rest of the area.

This room was where she spent most of her days in. At times, she will not even leave the safety of the fours walls that surrounded her. She will only leave for school, and when it was out she scurried back to the fortress.

These four walls also kept her prisoner.

A crash echoes from somewhere in the apartment and the girl winces, her unfailing suspicious gaze at last broken. Turning on her heel, she strides back to the door. With nimble fingers she tucks a few ginger locks behind her ear and then presses the side of her head against the crack in the door.

That was not necessary, though.

Her mother, I presume, was yelling at her husband. The two had never had the successful marriage they hoped for. In my many years of resident in the darkest corner of the Takenouchi dwelling, I've learned every detail of their past. The husband moved out a few years ago because it was more convenient for his career, but he and the misses remained married. The sun kissed girl never understood, thus causing her distant relationship with her mother.

This somehow amuses me to no end. Though, the sun kissed girl would think the contrary.

The rest of the arguing is a blur. Some moments are of full yelling, some moments are of calmness. Just like being in the eye of a tornado. The sun kissed girl furrows her eyebrows in confusion, maybe in fear, the concern reflected in her bronzed eyes. Then the arguments reaches critical mass and words of hate are shared between the parents.

Nothing hurt more than the silence that followed.

I could actually feel the sun kissed girl solidify, the affectionate blood that flows in her veins cease being so warm and alter into something that reflected the arctic.

She pushes away from the door, her only main support system. It's as if she does not know what to do with herself. The decisions are so vivid in her psyche that they're unreadable and blurry. Moments exceed as she numbly stands there, frozen like a grey comatose sculpture.

I notice that her auburn eyes are filled with clear tears. She is careful not to let them escape, not to let them dash down her features. I'm not sure if those are tears of apprehension, sorrow, or self disgust.

Her breath seems to also cease. Maybe it's because when she exhaled, a bit of her core fractured, and with every inhale corruption enters her soul and there was no way to cleanse it. Now she's faint, but it's far better than defeat.

She's standing so motionless that I am able to sense her trembling deep within.

Coming out of her trance, she gracefully, yet hesitantly, walks towards her desk. She uncomfortably glances around, as if searching the area has not out her at ease yet. As if her parents, anyone, can see her every move. An arm extends from her body and its fingers enfold around the top left hand drawer's handle and it slides open. Hands reach inside and come out with a polished knife.

The auburn eyes shine at the sight of the weapon like a city at night. I'm petrified of what she's thinking, but deep down I'm afraid that I do know what she bears in mind, what her tactics are. This is a perfect example of times when I detest my secure, cloudy corner because I am immobilized.

The feet tiptoe into the corner that's parallel to mine. Crashing her back alongside the wall, she sinks down until she's positioned on her legs. The blade then runs along the inside of her arms, her auburn eyes in deep thought once again as they obverse the facts. From my cloudy corner, I can see sore scars crisscrossing each other in the inside of her arm. The cold blade of the knife continues to trace these crisscrosses from previous wounds.

An urge to flee from my comfortable, vague corner ascends in my mind. The need to draw the weapon away from her grasp becomes unavoidable. Yet I cannot do any of these.

Something has condemned me to the darkest corner of the sun kissed girl's sanctuary.

Even though the sight of her makes me unwell, I have this need to rescue her, to assist. How can I both hate her, yet want to be her rescuer? I would say that I'm not a very decisive individual.

From my position in the shadows, I've grown to despise her so. She's so weak and fragile. A mere paper cut and she would drown herself in her own tears. The sun kissed girl would mope for says, layering forlorn thoughts on top of previous ones.

No matter how much I despise that girl, I by some means know what she is undergoing. Some weak aspect in my body posses the vigor for sympathy. I'm able to feel the disdain of the blade as she yearningly drives it into her wrist. An inexplicable blueprint of ache and bliss explodes like fireworks in my chest as the unwanted blood seeps out of the cut. Suspense builds up mutely as the girl vacuously watches it drool down her arm and onto the floor.

What she did next didn't render me speechless.

The sun kissed girl swept her bleeding arm towards her mouth. Her long eyelashes crisscross as she closes her eyes. A faint cherry tongue brushes against the dripping blood, scooping it into the girl's mouth. Just like a chef sampling his food, the girl flavors hers. Something about it reminds her of milk. It could be high-quality, or it could be spoiled. However, the girl would not label her blood along those lines. She decides that the saying, 'Girls are made out of sugar, spice, and everything nice' wasn't the recipe they had used in her creation. Instead it was 'Salt, ennui, and everything raw.'

She abruptly lets her arm drop into her lap, uncaring of the open wound, uncaring of the blood that stained her skin and the floor. The bronze orbs drift away from the scene and unemotionally gazes out of the uncovered window.

She had never told anyone before, but she had often dreamt of soaring the cyan skies. There was something about the heavens that always caused her to marvel. Like the ravens, with their lusciously black wings, she wished to fly. Perhaps then she would be able to escape. She had come close to revealing this dream. But in her mind, the idea of letting the words reach anyone's ear drums would be worse than a bomb.

The sun kissed girl unexpectedly sighs resignedly as she rests her head against the wall, shaking the dreams and thoughts out of her mind and heart.

It was best to keep thoughtless.

So she sat there, positioned on her legs, a bleeding arm on her lap and a scarred one holding on to the desk's leg. Dark ginger strands of hair framed her gorgeous face as she rested her head on the wall, bronzed orbs drifting from object to object in the room, as if she had never been there before.

Now as I view her clearer, I'm made positive that I would love to see her dead. Nothing less, nothing more.

Just why do I scorn her so?

Because she is just like me. Every detail and cell is similar to me. She knows how I feel, and I know how she feels. When I wish to be alone, I never can be because she is beside me at all hours. I even have a private corner in her room, the darkest one. She's condemned me here. It's my purpose in life to keep her company. A silent colleague. My function is to reflect things that others see. I hate that sun kissed girl, because she _is _me.

I am Sora Takenouchi, and my life is falling apart.


	2. Mirror

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Mirror_

* * *

I just favor the silence that roams about, searching for echoes to corrupt it. There's something melodic about the stillness that makes me want to sigh and relax.

I never noticed how silent my sanctuary was until my parents started arguing. Of course, I bet they would have been arguing sooner if my father lived with us. But it's always been my mom and I, even though my father says he'll be in our hearts and we'll be in his at all times. Now I realize that he was merely lying. He appeared one day and announced that he filed for divorce.

Hmm. How… 'peachy'.

Enough about him. I don't want to bear him in mind.

It aches too much.

With the little energy that I wield within myself, I crawl towards my bed and climb in. The covers that I pull over my body are so warm and comforting. If only I had someone like that in my life. It would make things so much more pleasant. I sling my bleeding arm over the edge of the bed as to not stain my clean white sheets.

Ignoring the tenderness of my open wound, I marvel at my room once again. I just can't get enough of it even though I've spent most of my time surrounded by these familiar things. Every time I look, I notice something different about everything.

But this time my curiosity goes directly towards the darkest corner in my room. Something about it always makes me dread it. It's as if something, or someone, lives there, and is always attentive to my every move. It's always lurking.

When I think about it, though, the whole ordeal makes me giggle with glee. Of course there's no one there. Who would want to stalk me? No one. The only thing that lurked in the corner was my full length mirror.

I placed my full length mirror in the darkest corner of my room years ago. Why? Because I detest the way the daylight touches my reflection, how it makes the admirable details about myself glow proudly. I am able to see myself whole, even though I never feel like that. And I'm not fond of that fact. I have to erase that image of myself from my mind. No one can see the good things about me, so I do not want to be the only one who is able to.

I suppose that when I think about it, there is someone lurking in the corner… the person who I want to be. The mirror reflects her. It's the reason I keep the mirror. Sometimes I think that that happier version of me is watching me, hating me, and cursing me as much as I do myself.

At times I hesitantly walk up to the mirror, careful to keep three feet away from it, and gaze into it. I'm able to see what everyone else sees about me, from head to toes. Sometimes I startle myself. That can't be me in the mirror; that can't be my reflection.

Can it?

That girl returning my sturdy gaze is a stranger to me. It's as if I have never met her before. How can I be myself yet not know what I look like on the exterior? But it's not like I have eyes somewhere besides in my head. It makes sense that I'm only familiar with myself through the inside. Only I distinguish how what I feel and what I believe.

With new eyes, I look into the mirror. I see the same things that I always see. That girl with the ginger hair and auburn eyes. In a way, I'm relieved that she only exists in the mirror, because if I had the power, I would cut her.

In a way, I already do.

Just look at the crisscrosses on the inside of my arm.

But that isn't enough. A mere slash won't do the job. She won't leave me alone, because she _is _me. And I can't run away from myself. It's impossible. But I feverishly wish I had the control to. It would be my wildest wish come true. Or, one of them.

As I let my eyes drift around my room for the millionth time, I come across something that I rarely use: the telephone. It rings at times, and sometimes it is for me, but most of the time it stays silent. Just like my sanctuary. But now I look at it with a new purpose.

I leap out of bed and eagerly snatch it, holding on to it as if it were a lifeline. In a way, it is. I detach the line from it and let it drop to the floor, and then I go into the corner that parallels the darkest one, my place to wallow in self pity.

Daringly, I throw the telephone towards the mirror, and everything that occurs next happens slowly. I can see my reflection's face twist into shock. I can see her auburn eyes staring atrociously at the telephone; her hands cover her eyes as the telephone reaches the mirror. I hear a ghastly crash, and everything is silent once again.

"Sora?" My head snaps behind me, towards the locked door, at the sound of my name. It's my mother's voice echoing throughout the apartment. I can hear the concern in her voice.

"It's nothing, Mom!" I hear myself yelling back. I wait for a response, but my mother doesn't reply, which is fine with me. Now I can focus on my actions. Anxious, I slowly turn my head back towards the mirror, fearful of what I'm going to witness.

The mirror lays shattered on the floor. Sharp pieces are scattered around the frame. The frame reminds me of someone who has been shot, because there's a gaping fissure in the middle of it, where the glass previously was.

Where the girl previously was.

I kneel down in the center of the mess and carefully attempt to portion the glass mutually, like a jigsaw puzzle. But there are too many parts. Everything feels distorted and I cannot think without delay. Like the glass, my thoughts are scattered and I cannot glue them together.

But a few thoughts find their partner, because realization hits me like a boulder.

Oh, no. What have I done?

I collapse to the floor, letting the antipathy for the girl who looked back at me when I gazed into the mirror drop. She was the only one who understood me, but I broke her. It's my fault that she lays shattered, in pieces, on the ground. Now _I _lay shattered on the floor, venerable yet again.


	3. Cloudy

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Cloudy_

* * *

The first light faintly glows through the uncovered window the next morning. As it becomes more prevailing I am able to feel it fondle my ginger hair, as if petting my head and attempting to soothe all of my insecurities away. A memory of my mother wiping my tears away forces its way into my mind's eye. I can't recall what caused me to weep, but I do remember my mother being there for me. Silently seething, I force the memory away, not wanting to think or feel. 

But I do, nevertheless.

Now I'm having difficulty identifying what took place the night before. Why is it that I awoke in the mist of shattered glass? An image of the crisscrosses on my arm flashes in my psyche. No, I could not have used them for that purpose. None of the shards are coated with blood.

I take a deep gulp of air, closing my auburn eyes and rest my head on the flooring. With every ounce of energy that I wield, I desperately wish for the day to not begin. I knew that it was Monday, yet another meaningless day that I have to endure. School would begin in a few hours.

The thought of wearing that degrading school uniform sickens me. The feeling of making my way down the hallways, knowing that a guy's watching, staring, grows. I shiver at the unwelcome notion.

The digital clock that blinks off the minutes tells me that it is almost time to prepare for school. Trembling, I push myself off of the floor. I feel lightheaded as I stumble across my room, careful not to step on the glass.

Ironic how I was careful of the broken glass. It's not like I've been cautious not to sever myself before.

A few moments later, after I've taken a temperate shower and have put on my uniform, I wander over to my darkest corner, where the better-off description of me lives. But I'm surprised to only see the hallow frame, nothing. Where was my reflection?

Then the image of the girl in the mirror covering her face as a telephone flies towards her flashes. The hatred that I felt returns, but I'm not certain on whether I'm disgusted at myself or at my actions. Maybe both.

The mirror's shattered.

How could I have forgotten?

I broke her. I ruined her. I'm the source of my own acrimony. By betraying the girl who stared back at me in the mirror, I betrayed myself.

How could I?

* * *

A deep voice comes from behind me as I somehow find myself in the school's front yard, waiting for the first bell to ring and the day to begin. 

"Hey, Sora. How are you?"

I turn to gaze into unreadable cerulean eyes. "Hey, Matt. I'm the same. You?"

Matt's shoulders bound up and down once. Then his cerulean eyes lose focus on mine and drift around. It occurs to me that he always does this when he's about to reveal something.

"TK had this idea of having a family dinner," he says uncertainly. "As in, me and my dad and him and his mom. The four of us."

When his words reach my ears, I'm not sure how to react. I know for a fact that Matt's parents are divorced, and have been since he was about six or seven. His mother took his younger brother TK, and he stayed with his father. If my parents divorce is tearing me apart, then I wonder how he must have felt. I also wonder why he refers to his and TK's mother as if she wasn't his mother. They share the same parents.

However, this isn't something I can ask him.

So I voice, "Oh. When are you guys getting together?"

"Tonight at Moreales. TK says he's paying for everything. I don't know how, but he is."

I take this time to study Matt, searching for any sign of emotion. But he just has this poker face that he's been working on for most of his life, and it's perfected. So I can't help but notice the way his blonde hair brightens when the sun touches it.

"Yeah…," Matt sighs, and it occurs to me that I've been staring at him. I shyly smile and fight the urge to twitch in embarrassment. "Tonight's going to suck."

"Maybe it won't be as bad as you think," I propose.

He actually laughs. But just like his poker face, I have trouble interpreting it. Was he laughing at how unpromising the idea was? Or was he laughing at me? I fear that one the most.

Before I'm capable of saying anything else, the bell rings and the crowd around us starts to squirm. People rush, stepping in between me and Matt. I can see the crowd pushing us away from each other.

I catch his attention and stare into his orbs. "See you."

"Later," he says as he turns the corner into a hallway.

The rest of the day is blurry. Distorted. Cloudy. I recall walking from class to class, then sitting through the teacher's lectures and lesson, then picking up my books and starting the cycle all over again. Only I wish it was as simple as that.

I walked around all day with an unknown pain in my heart, an imaginary sack of potatoes being dragged around, taking a toll on my back. I didn't have a bounce in my step because there was a boulder tied to my left ankle.

And then I find myself at my locker, putting my books away. Surprisingly, none of my teacher's assigned any homework, which meant that I have a day to relax. Or try to.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a boy with wild chocolate hair making his way to me. The smile that's splattered on his face makes me want to do the same.

My thoughts run dry as he comes up to me, but says nothing. It's one of his silent greetings, one that I find quiet amusing. I exchange blows with the urge to giggle and concentrate on pretending to look busy.

After a few moments, the silence is awkward.

"Sora?" He struggles to obtain my attention.

"Hmm?" My hands quiver as I attempt to position my books in my locker.

The suddenly locker door slams shut. Tai picks up both of my hands, disabling me from doing anything. I soften at his touch. The warm presence of someone else being here with me crawls, washing away most of my negative thoughts. When he realizes that he's claimed my attention, his hands release mine and my arms fall to my side.

There's a bitter reaction as my inner arm brushes against my side. I do not notice that I visibly cringe until I witness the unease rinse Tai's handsome features. To cover my aggrieved expression, I offer him my finest grin, but I see that his focus is on my arms.

Even though my uniform is long sleeved, I panic as I attempt to hide my arms. The crisscrosses burn with anticipation of being found. I feel as though Tai already knows, though. He can somehow always detect when something isn't right.

Tai leans against the lockers. "What's wrong?" he asks, worry reflected in his voice.

The finest grin I have to offer slips from my face and alters into a despondent frown.

"My parents are getting a divorce." I'm wondering why I do not choke on the words, how I find the willpower to say them out loud. I could not before. I find tears threatening to plummet, and I seek out reassurance in Tai's understanding gaze.

"Want me to come over today?" he asks, his chocolate eyes staring into mine. There is something hypnotic about his dark orbs; something let me know that I will be all right as long as he's around. And I admit to myself that I have grown to favor his presence.

I zealously wish I'm not blushing.

"Sure," I listen to myself quietly agree, and Tai widely grins.

When Tai walks away, I find my way out of the crowded school and turn onto the street that will lead me home. I sense cars breeze by me. I get a glimpse of the younger kids scamper out of candy stores, their eyes bright and shinning.

As I pass the park, I witness a happy family of three as they keep each other company under a tree. A blanket is spread beneath them; the baby is being held by the mother, who is being held by the baby's father.

Another memory fights its way into my mind's eye once more. This time, it's of me and my parents. I remember the bliss that I experienced when my father came home from when I was five. That was the first time the family was pasted together. The first time I saw what the picture of the Takenouchis looked like together.

I can't keep my eyes off of this family I see under the tree. I record how pleased they seem, how picture perfect they appear to be as one family.

My chin drops as my eyes water for an unknown reason.

A reason that I cannot be let known.

I'm so deep in thought that I hardly notice a car pull up next to me. Curious, I turn my head in time to see the window being rolled down. To my alarm, I see the man who calls himself my father.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him, bewildered. It's not often that I see my father. That rarely happens. He's usually so busy with his career.

"Getting these divorce papers signed," my father replies. I'm not sure how to read his tone. Is there a hint of glee in his voice? Is he proud of what he's doing? Or am I mistaking that for uncertainty?

Not taking note on my stillness, he asks, "Why don't I give you a ride home?"

Disregarding him, I glance up towards the clear atmosphere and wonder where everything went wrong. I silently ask whoever might be eavesdropping what I did incorrect, what I did to deserve this.

_Can't we be like that loving family under the tree?_

Then it occurs to me that it's senseless to wonder. A waste of thoughts and energy. Of course I won't receive an answer to my distrusts.

With my best foot forward, I take a few steps towards my father's vehicle. An arm extends from my body, and I watch as I open the door and wordlessly get inside.

"Glad that's decided," my father says, and the car leaps forward. We head towards home, where my mother is waiting along with the nearing devastation.

/3/

Author's notes: If you want more details on how Matt's family reunion went, go read my one shot entitled '_A Scar for Each'_.


	4. Breakdown

* * *

**Crisscross  
**By: Stained In Negativity  
_Breakdown  
_

* * *

A few moments later, my father and I stand in front of the apartment door. I don't know whether he is regarding the entrance in silence or whether he is beginning to regret filing for divorce. Perhaps it's both.

My mind wonders, attempting to figure out why my father would want a divorce in the first place. Maybe he's been cheating on my mother all this time. But if that is the case, then why would he want a divorce at any rate? He could just continue to deceive like he's been doing. Maybe he just doesn't want to be a father. _My_ father.

I shake my head and glance over at my father. His exhausted eyes are concentrating on the door knob.

Maybe he's trying to open the door with his mind.

I cough in attempt to fight back the giggles. To laugh would be too excruciating. This is a serious situation and laughing won't lend a hand.

"Aren't you going in?" I inquire, and he jumps a bit. But he grins and becomes lively again.

"Ladies first," he insists, and I sigh and reach for the handle. The door creaks open, and I step inside, taking off my shoes in the process. My father does the same.

There's an eerie hush in the apartment. That's nothing this apartment hasn't been through before.

My father glances around, as if he has never been inside of his own home. But if I count the years of his absence, I know that his reaction is appropriate. I can't remember a single time when he stayed for more than an hour or so.

It dawns on me that he's searching for my mother. I can see his lips mouth her name, but the voice, the sound, never escapes. For some reason, I get the need to help him. But why should I? He never helped me before.

"Mom! I'm home!" With those words I betray myself yet again.

My empty call bounces off the unadorned walls and make their way into the kitchen, then the living room and the rest of the apartment.

"I'm in the living room, Sora!" My mother's voice comes.

I glance at my father in appalling anticipation. Isn't he going to greet her? But I become conscious that I expect too much out of him. He's just a man, another stranger.

My feet guide me down the stretched narrow corridor. It's as if I'm walking down the church aisle, because my father is at my side. Only it isn't as dazzling as a wedding. I decide that I'm leading the way to the end. Walking away from the light, instead of towards it.

When the hallway ends and we're in the open space, in the luminosity, I see my mother sitting quietly on the couch. She seems so calm. I feel guilty for letting my father in to disturb her, but I suppose this moment had to come sooner or later.

My mother turns around to greet me properly, but her eyes drift towards the taller man beside me. The welcome smile formed on her face drops, and the eyes that shine with love turn exposed. Then her eyes focus on me again.

"Sora?" She's expectant.

"He gave me a ride," I explain, hoping that she sees through that and hears my enclosed apology.

But she breathes, "Oh".

Not wanting to linger for the brawl that I sense approaching, I rush back down the hallway to my room. As I enter, I shut the door, then whirling around to lock the door.

Before, I wound confront the darkest corner of my room from the entrance before I did any of it. I would see the happier Sora Takenouchi staring back at me and take it as a reassurance. But now I can't bear to gaze into the dark corner and not have her look back at me.

The only thing that lies in the dark corner is a broken mirror's framework.

I collapse onto my bed. Half of my body is on the bed, half of it is hanging over the edge. Against the wish to hear anything, I bury my head into the pillow and cover my ears with the palm of my hand. A shiver crawls up and down my spine because of the chilly contact my palm brought.

And just like my other plans, this one fails miserably as well.

From the living room, I hear my mother screaming, demanding how my father could do this to her but to me, his only daughter, as well. She's asking him what his plans are, what he's going to do about remaining in my life. Or trying to.

My father says he's still thinking about all of that. He angrily demands her to sign the papers so that he could depart and leave her and myself at piece.

I hate hearing my name in their arguments.

I wish I could tell them, but every time I try to my throat is dry and my valor disappears.

Then the slams commence. Fear becomes a part of my heart as I consider of the possibilities. Is my father hurting my mother? Is she throwing the good China at him? When I come out of the room, my sanctuary, will there be blood tainting the flooring?

I lose all track of time as the endless battles begin and end. I think I may have drifted off to sleep while listening to the separation. For the first time I find my bed comfortable like a cloud instead of it being pasted together with small razor nails.

It's dusk now. The brilliant colors of the setting sun trespass through the window, painting my surroundings with shades of yellow, orange, pink and some purple.

Someone once told me that my auburn eyes had the potential to camouflage into a sunset.

For some time I watch the colors dance across my room as the sun goes down and the moon takes its place in the heavens.

I settle on going against the idea to go to sleep early. In a daze I glide off my comfortable bed and find myself kneeling down in the mist of shattered glass. My nimble fingers pick up a few shards and toss them in the waste basket. I only keep the sharpest three.

I escort myself to the corner that is parallel to the darkest corner. The smallest, sharpest shard from the broken mirror is about to scar into my crisscrossed arm, the left one, until I hear someone

_Tai. _

It slipped my mind that he was going to come over. Shame conquers me as I glance down at the blade near my crisscrossed arm. The next thing I know, I'm frantically changing into a long sleeved shirt. The shard is in the desk with my knife.

"Coming!" A voice that sounds familiar yells.

I burst out of my room and turn the corner, the front door in my sights. My parent's battling behind me is so close that I panic and spring forward. A hand swiftly extends from my body and I turn the handle to swing open the door.

The darkness falls into the apartment along with the winter's coldness once the door's opened, but I don't care. The first thing I see is Tai's shimmering chocolate eyes amongst the city lights. I think they shimmer with astonishment. He's simply standing there, hands in his pockets, seeming dazed. I push him back a bit so that I can stride out and shut the door behind me.

I don't bother to let me parents know where I'll be or when I'll be back.

Out in the cold, I sigh. A cloud of grey smoke arises in front of me. It must be really frosty, but I'm too anesthetized and frightened to feel anymore. I think this state is called shock.

How could it have been so sunny earlier and hours later, it's freezing?

I'm wondering and noticing all of these things while staring at Tai. I record how the night lights complement his features. But I'm not the only doing the gawking. He's staring at me wide eyed, too.

Oh, no. I wonder if he noticed my slashed arms. Or if he heard my parents arguing. I hope it's that last one I mentioned.

Tai's voice is soft and tender. "Hey, Sora."

"Tai…" My voice drifts as the pain severs my throat. I feel myself falling, but I fall into someone's arms and they wrap around my worn out body. I bury my head in warm his chest and he rests his chin on the top of my head. My arms wrap around him.

"I heard your parents arguing," Tai whispers.

I suffocate.

"What do you say we get out of here?" Tai suggests, still understanding. "We can head over to the park and just sit around."

But I cling to him for my dear life.

Or whatever's left of it.

/4/


	5. Tai

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Tai_

* * *

Blankly, I stare up into the starry night. The stars twinkle and gleam as I continually stare at them. I can't explain it, but seeing their shine in the mist of pitch black makes me feel alive. It's like, if they are able to shine through all of the clouds, then so will I.

Sometimes I bring myself to wonder if the ones outside of our world gaze upon use as we do them. But just like my dream about flying, I can't reveal this thought to anyone for fear of humiliation.

I also conjecture if the stars feel lonely. To us on earth, they seem close, together, but in reality they are miles and miles away. That's another thing I can relate to them with. I always feel alone in my house even though my mother is constantly there.

But at the moment I am not alone. As I lie on the grass and look straight ahead, upwards, Tai Kamiya lies beside me.

The walk to the park is blurry. I can't remember my legs leading me towards the park. All I remember is being in Tai's affectionate embrace. This brings me to wonder if he carried me here. But it's not the type of question that I can ask.

A pain in the back of my heads introduces itself to the rest of my scars and aches in my body. I think I let out a groan of frustration, but I can't be sure. The only reason I think this is because Tai turns his gaze away from the darkening sky and gazes at me.

I really dislike the silence. I'm afraid I'll say something that I have denied repeatedly in the past.

"My dad drove up to me while I was walking home," I explain, reliving the moment. "He offered me a ride. How was I supposed to say 'no'? He's my dad. So I got in his car, and the next thing I know we're at the apartment."

I can even hear Tai nodding. I know he understands me.

"The ride home was silent. He didn't say anything to me, and I didn't say anything to him."

"Have you asked him why he wants a divorce yet?" Tai's voice interrupts gently.

I wince. Of course I hadn't. Why couldn't Tai see that? But maybe he just thought that I didn't want to say the reason because it would hurt too much. I believe that even hearing the reason would break me.

"No," I admit.

I hear Tai slide his hands beneath his head, making them a barrier between the grass and the back of his chocolate hair.

"Your mom doesn't want the divorce."

A statement, not a question.

"No, she doesn't want the divorce," I repeat, trying the words out for the first time. They had a plain taste; they weren't good or bad.

Plain, like me.

"So why does your dad want it?" he asks. It sounds as if he's trying to solve this puzzle. Only I want to tell him that I have been trying to piece it together, but there are significant pieces missing.

"Not sure," I respond. "My theory is that he's been cheating on Mom this whole time. Maybe he wants to marry the other woman."

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. What else could my father be so busy doing that he can't come home whenever he gets the chance? I heard somewhere that college professors don't take a long time to grade their students' papers. The answer is either right or wrong, there is no in between.

I endeavor to paint a picture. An imaginary one. The canvas can be the darkening sky I am seeing, and the guidelines can be the twinkling stars. The man I'm painting resembles my father; I have no trouble visualizing him. But the woman he's with has no face, only a very attractive body.

The man's a cheater.

And he knows it.

And I, his daughter, know it, too.

I wonder if the other woman knows it as well.

The married man is with another woman.

My stomach churns at the very notion.

Tai's warm voice rips through my illusion. "What makes you think that?"

I was taken aback. For an instant I had no idea what Tai was referring to. Then I realize he's questioning my theory about the divorce.

I answer his question with one of my own. "What else can be the reason?"

"Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe your father doesn't want your mother to be tied down to a man who isn't there for her."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to be my father anymore!" I explode.

Tai turns his head and gazes at me. "Getting a divorce won't change that. He's part of the reason that you're here. No matter what you say or do, and no matter what he says or does, he'll always be your father. You're both a part of each other. It doesn't matter if a piece of paper says otherwise."

I never thought of it like that before. I turn my head and gaze at him too. I try to see him clearer, but I drown in his eyes.

"But don't give me full credit," Tai whispers, almost with guilt. "I'm quoting Matt."

A flash of Matt's features and presence comes and goes in my mind. Even though the still picture only lasted a few seconds, I could see Matt's forlorn eyes gleaming with something mysterious, I could see his faint grin gently spread across his angelic face. The image was so real I could almost hear his deep voice. I could almost extend a hand from my body and feel him. I could almost smell him.

Something like remorse takes over me. I'm not supposed to be thinking about Matt when I'm with Tai.

"Matt told me this when he explained his parents' divorce," Tai continues to explain. "And how he realized that his mom didn't exactly leave him behind."

"Oh," is the only thing I am able to say. But I quickly change the subject. "It's getting pretty dark. I'll be expected home soon…"

"Nah," Tai sighs. He sat up; his hair messed up, and gazed down at me with mischievous eyes. "And I bet you don't want to go back there. Why not stay over at my place?"

My heart ceases, and therefore the blood pulsing through my veins did as well. Tai Kamiya was actually inviting me to stay over at his house for a night. I blush at the concept.

"Won't your parents mind?" I shyly ask, though I feverishly hope they don't.

"Nah," Tai says again. "And I think they went out right now. I left Kari all alone." His bright face falls. "So I have to get back to her."

I giggle for the first time in weeks. It felt good, like I was being reborn. "Tai, Kari is not a little girl anymore. She can take care of herself."

"I know, but I promised that I would keep an eye on her," he insists.

It seems that Tai's careful nature towards his sister still hasn't left him even after all these years. But it doesn't bother me. Tai looks cuter when his eyebrows are furrowed in worry.

I shake my head at my last thought.

"Won't your parents get mad that you're having a girl sleep over?" I ask, still trying to shake my thoughts clear of my head. I feel myself blushing madly.

Tai is shaking his head as well, but not for the same reason I am. Or, so I assume. "We'll just say that you're Kari's guest. My parents won't mind at all."

I study Tai Kamiya from my place on the ground. His tan completion has a tint of red in it, and the gleam in his eyes is unreadable. That is odd. He's usually effortless to interpret. But I suppose tonight is different. I like the way the moon's dim glow lie on his chocolate features. And I like the way he's studying me.

"But we have school tomorrow. How am supposed to go to school without my uniform on?" I ask, hypnotized under his gaze.

"We can drop by your place, sneak in, and get it," Tai says simply. The eye connection we have doesn't plummet until I twitch.

"Why are you being so kind to me, Tai?" The words are out of my mouth before I think them through. The anticipation for his response kills me.

"Because you're my friend," he whispers, and I sense something else in between those words. It makes me blissful yet distressed at the same time. I do not like to think that he's lying to me, because I know he's not. We are friends. But I know that he wants to say more.

"But I don't want to intrude on you and your perfect family," I say, and I realize that that was the only motive that I didn't accept Tai's request with open arms. With my auburn eyes shining with regret at my own words, I stare at him. His face reveals no pain, but his eyes do.

"I- I'm sorry! I just don't want to be a bother!"

I quickly jumped from the floor. I had some trouble balancing after lying on the flat ground for so long. As I struggle with my dizzy view I can wobbly see Tai also springing up from the grass.

The world is spinning. I tightly close my eyes, attempting to escape.

The hot streaks heading down my cheeks are accompanied by someone warmly holding my head in their hands. I can feel their heat warm me up to my core. I feel someone, the person holding my chin up, press against me. Any closer and it might have been illegal.

Hesitantly, I open my auburn eyes to stare into chocolate orbs. They remind me more of chocolate pudding now. They can be molded into something other than adventure. I've seen the orbs molded into despair, concern and goodwill. But now they gaze at me with sheer devotion.

My face grows temperate. And it's not because of the tears.

I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Both crying and blushing around Tai Kamiya.

Tai wipes away the tears that stream down my face with his nimble fingers. His face is dangerously close to mine. I can faintly feel the tip of his nose touching mine. His chocolate eyes are gazing intently into my auburn orbs, and as he speaks his lips softly stroke mine.

"Shhh," he soothes, barely audible, "don't worry. I'll always be here for you."


	6. Kamiya Residence

* * *

**Crisscross**  
Written By: Stained In Negativity  
_Kamiya Residence_

* * *

"Oh, Tai, I was all right by myself," Kari Kamiya insists as her older brother thoroughly inspects the apartment. To convince him, she adds, "You were only gone for two hours or so."

Tai pauses in securing the door locks to gaze at his sister. The eyebrows that outline his well-built profile are furrowed in suspicion, which is also reflected in his luscious eyes. His jaw is set in a manner that doesn't have to indicate any emotion. His lips are formed into a thin line. Just as he had the room thinking that he was about to speak, he turns back to testing the door locks.

No words were able to convey his suspicions.

A sigh escapes the younger girl. But then she explodes in a fit of giggles. I glance over at her while she is expressing her merriment. She's standing up straight, about six feet in front of me and to the left. I've never seen Kari so cheerful before. Of course, she has always been a spirited child, despite her illnesses.

I have also constantly admired the Kamiya siblings' agreeable relationship. They manage to stay together through thick and thin. And no matter the distance, they love each other very much, just not to the point of incest.

Just like Matt and TK.

There I go again. I am keeping Matt alive in my mind and heart instead of Tai.

I need to break that habit.

The weight of someone sinking next to me on the couch chases all thoughts out of my care. I nearly fall off of the couch but I realize that I am in the presence of others, and to do that would be embarrassing. Instead I search for the edge of the settee to balance myself.

"Kari, I need you to do me a huge favor," Tai's voice comes from the kitchen. It seems that he moved around in the last ten seconds.

"Sure." She looks as if to be honored that Tai is asking for her help. And now I know that it was her who sat next to me. "What do you need help on?"

"You see, if you help me out, you'll be helping Sora out too," Tai continues to explain as he nears us with a handful of warm drinks. Chocolate, to be exact. I smile at him in silent thanks, and he returns it. Then he sinks next to me. He's centimeters away. I could just raise a finger and touch his hand…but I keep them wrapped around the hot cup of chocolate.

I turn away from Tai only to fall under Kari's concerned gaze. Then fear overwhelms me. Are my problems obvious to her?

To conform my fears Kari asks, "What's wrong, Sora?"

Tai comes to my rescue yet again. "Nothing," he says, and then cuts to the point. "Sora just needs to stay for the night. And I was wondering if you could tell Mom and Dad that she's your guest, not mine."

There's at least five beats of silence as Kari ponders. There's a gleam of mischief in her light brown orbs as she glances from me to Tai, who was right behind me. Her eyes suggest something. Something that I didn't want her to say out loud.

"Sure," Kari finally declares with a smile.

I gulp down my heart that found its way into my throat. Yet I can sense the acid in my stomach burning it. Nonetheless I reach out and give Kari a great bear hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I repeat.

Kari giggles as I let go of her and offer her my finest grin. Now I am by myself again. Away from anyone that could touch me or comfort me. The absence of it makes me become conscious that I lost the warmness in my hands. I pick up my hot chocolate that sat in the coffee table in front of me, and I lean back in the cozy couch, inhaling the relief that Tai was donating me.

The Kamiyas' apartment's aroma was so different from mines. Theirs was bathed with love and appreciation that it made me want to quiver. Light comes from every corner, from every which way, even if it was impossible. I remember my own dwelling, with its plain walls. From many blocks away I can sense the dread looming from my room, specifically from the darkest corner.

"We have a few hours before bedtime," Tai announces, and I'm perplexed. He's sixteen and still has a bedtime? Then it occurs to me that it is one of his many exaggerations. "What do you want to do?" he asks.

I wait for Kari to suggest something. However, after an awkward moment, I become aware that she wasn't there. I can sense her directly behind the couch, conversing with someone on the phone. Her voice is low so Tai and I can't hear what she's saying.

"Sora?"

"Huh?" My spine snaps into a straight line, and the cup in my hand is suddenly scorching. I place it on the coffee table.

I whirl my head to my left in order to face Tai, who's giving me this intent look. A look I've never received from him, or any other guy for that matter. But I do know that his eyes are glowing mischievously, like they yearn for fun. A long arm is hanging over the edge of the couch, leaving a comfortable and suitable curvature for me to snuggle into.

Oh.

The world spins with colors of the rainbow.

I think I have a fever. But in a good way. Or bad. It depends on how I look at it. There's no doubt in my mind that I'm not absolutely red with embarrassment and the fact that I think he's suggesting snuggling with me. Something in my chest says to breathe. To take a breath. Maybe more. And I don't disobey.

So the colors disappear and swirl down the drain. I'm able to see Tai's handsome face again. A shy smile spreads across my face. Now my face isn't just crimson, but I'm sure he's able to read my thoughts through my eyes. He's staring, chocolate eyes on me and only me.

Leisurely. I take it slow. As the world is silent and calm, unrushed, so am I. Leaning back isn't enough; I have to incline to the left a bit. But I get there, nonetheless. I suspend a nostalgia shiver as my lower back brushes against Tai's side. Pretty soon my whole body skins into his. The arm that was hanging over the edge of the sofa wraps around my shoulders. Tai also leans towards me, and I loll my head to the side, attempting to rest it on his chest. I sense the side of his cheek resting on my forehead.

And there we were. Tai and I, together on the couch, in each other's embrace. Suddenly I don't feel so isolated. But of course, I never thought I was. I simply consider myself to be lost in a divorce that should not have been bought up. None of that matters now. I'm with Tai. And his actions clearly state that he is fond of me, right?

I never wanted to admit it before. Not even to myself. The thought of Tai's feelings being mutual was preposterous. It was on the same list as my absurd dream of flying. The Forbidden List. Tai is so attractive…why would he ever want me? Me, with my so called 'love' and low self esteem. The twin that lived in the mirror, the one that lurked in the darkest corner of my room, seemed more suited for Tai Kamiya.

But I exterminated her.

And I liked it, too. Now she can't come between Tai and me.

Someone once said that actions speak louder than words. I remember the quote, but I cannot remember the person who made me conscious of it. But that's not the point. At the time that I heard that quote, I completely agreed with it. Now, as it runs across my mind, I'm neutral on it. Tai's actions might declare that he feels like I do about him, but I might be confusing it. I only need him to say it… to say those words.

I need to hear them.

My hearing abilities seem to have improved drastically. I'm able to hear Tai smile blissfully. The tanned skin that surrounds his lips stretches as his lips do. It seems as though I've also improved my visualizing skills. I close my eyes and attempt to imagine what they would feel like on my mine. Then it occurs to me that I do have a clue as to what they might taste like, what the kind of sensation his kiss would fashion me. Just a few minuets ago, or so it seems, Tai was practically nuzzling me.

"_Shhh," he soothes, barely audible, "don't worry. I'll always be here for you." _

For a single moment, I felt safe. It must have been a long time since I had felt that way. I was in Tai Kamiya's arms and nothing else existed. Just like right now. This very moment.

I sigh mutely, and sleep washes over me. Nothing can tear me apart from Tai now; I am so sure of it. I'm letting my guard down and hoping for that. I only wish that I am right about him. Tai won't do anything to hurt me. At least I can rely on that.

So many thoughts… what happened to my rule? The one I would torture myself if it were to be broken. It's always best to be thoughtless.

It is silent. However, that fact does not bother me anymore. Being with Tai is soothing. I'm not sure how many moments I spend within his embrace. They are too priceless to be measured. Though, something tells me that it was quite a while, because a little bubble of giggles emerged from behind us, behind the couch.

My eyes snap open and I cannot decide what to do next.

"Mom and Dad are coming home soon," a giggling Kari says. So it was her who was laughing.

Taking this as a warning sign, I tell my brain to send out a message to the rest of my body. The message says, in bold letters, to rip myself out of Tai's arms. But the message is never made. And I don't want to move.

"How soon?" Tai asks his little sister.

The giggling dies down, but I'm positive that Kari is grinning for all she is worth. "In about an hour."

Tai lifts his chin up from the side of my forehead to give his little sister a questioning gaze. I did not have to look at his face to know what look it was. It was the one that made one of his eyebrows rise and his jaw set. The warmth of his chin finding its way back to my forehead doesn't make me jump anymore. But Tai thinks that it isn't enough. His other hand wraps around me, pulling me back towards him. Now I'm nearly sitting on him. My back his laid against his chest. Warm hands are wrapped around my waist. I loll my head back so that it can rest beneath his chin.

"This is nice," I can hear Tai whispering. Pride overwhelms me. I know that those words are not for anyone but me.

"Yeah," I hum.

My hands are lounging on top of Tai's. But softly, gently, so as not to disturb the crisscrosses that live embedded in the inside of my arms. I praise myself for wearing a long-sleeved shirt. I merely plead that Tai can't feel them. I want to be only one to see them. They are my secret.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks.

I have to think on this question. Of course I haven't eaten anything. My stomach has been vibrating since I arrived from school earlier on the day. But if I answer negativity to his question that means we'll have to leave each other's embrace. If I answer 'yes' to his question, nothing will stir.

On the other hand I do not want to him.

So I tell him that I'm not hungry at the moment.

"Are you warm now?" Tai continues to ask.

"Yes," I reply. "Thanks, Tai."

"You know I'd do anything for you."

I inhale deeply because I start to feel lightheaded. But instead of air, I gulp down Tai's presence. His scent. It's something indescribable. The scent is like nothing I have whiffed on any other guy. The cologne is not known to me. But I'll have a name for it anyways. Tai Kamiya.

I begin to wonder if he is thinking of me. My heart flutters at the thought. Feverishly, like the tint of my face and hair, I wish that Tai asks me out. I'm wishing alongside hope that this isn't a friendly thing. I frantically want it to be more.

Kari's announcement interrupts my day dream.

"Mom and Dad are home!"

Tai is at a loss. "Already?"

"You've been sitting on the couch for hours," Kari points out as she emerges from the bedroom, heading for the front door.

There's a great sense of loss in my being as I rip myself out of Tai's embrace. It seems as if I have lost him for good now. Then I undergo the loneliness that has been living in my heart for as long as I can remember.

I'm bare and… simple.

I'm standing now, facing the television. I plan on greeting Mr. and Mrs. Kamiya. So I swirl around in order to see where I'm going, but I cannot step towards the door without running Tai over. We're face to face now. Even though his skin texture is tanner than most peoples', I see that it had been replaced with red. Something clicks in my heart. Is he blushing? A faint nervous smile has replaced his usually confident one.

I grin greatly at him. I have to reassure him of my feelings. Thinking back on it now, I realize that Tai has never come forth with his feelings because I never made mine a little obvious. No hints.

"Hurry," Kari says. She's already at the door. I noticed that she's changed into her pink pajamas as I stride up to the door. Tai goes into the kitchen with the empty cups that were used to contain the chocolate.

"Wait," Kari says as we wait by the door. She turns to me. "If we charge at them then they'll think something's up. Let's go into my room and pretend to do each other's nails."

She grabs my hands and drags me into the bedroom that she and her brother share. As I fall to the floor I take a brief second to observe my surrounds to make sure if anything has changed since I've been in the bedroom. But I couldn't see anything different. The bunk bed was still in the same place, and the floor was spotless, thanks to the organized sister.

"Okay," Kari breaths, a bag in her hand. She is unzipping it and unloading the contents. "Just pretend to be concerned about your nails."

I laugh.

Kari gazes at me. "Tai's really excited that you're staying over," she simply states.

Twitching again. My heart's pounding. "H-he is?"

"Can't you tell?" She doesn't wait for my response. "You two seemed to be hitting it off."

Just when she is about to give me more details, more valuable information, we both hear the front door creak open and Mrs. Kamiya calling out to her children that she is home.

"Hi Mom!" Kari and Tai call out in unison, even though they are in different rooms.

Kari rises from the floor and beckons for me to follow. I do not disobey. As the younger teen and I step out into the living room, we come into view of Mrs. Kamiya. She's unloading groceries from brown paper bags. Tai is rising from the couch, where the television's glow illuminates everything. Without a word, he places everything where they belong.

"Hi Mrs. Kamiya," I greet her. She forgets about the groceries and looks at me with welcoming warm eyes. As usually, her hair is pulled back by a ponytail. She and Kari resemble each other greatly. Unlike my mom and me.

"Hello Sora," Mrs. Kamiya says cheerily. "how have you been?"

How I dislike that question with a passion. When one asks that question, they expect a positive answer, something that I cannot offer. I can't reveal my true emotions. So I stick to the usual 'I'm fine' answer.

"Mom," Kari says. "Is it okay if Sora spends the night?"

"Sure," her mother says, not thinking anything of the situation.

Tai's back is to his mother, and to me, as he fumbles with the cabinets. I can't help but to observe him in detail. He's wearing the sweats that he wore during Christmas.

A flash of remembering Matt's concert overcomes me. As I had stood in front of the door, gathering my valor, Tai had marched up to me. Even now I don't know what I was thinking then. I was attempting to throw myself at Matt with homemade cookies. Luckily, for me, Jun showed up and destroyed them.

Now I can't concentrate. I'm staring at Tai. I know it, and I'm not ashamed. The long-sleeved sweat shirt moves with him as he opens and closes drawers. I think he has abs.

"Where's Dad?" Kari asks.

"Working late again."

"Mom," Tai says, "you're not _cooking_ tonight are you?" There's a quiver in his voice. I recognize it as fear.

"No," his mother sighs. "It's too late. And it's almost bedtime for you kids."

"Oh no," I breathe. All three of the Kamiyas turn to gaze at me. "I have my school uniform, but I forgot to pack some night clothes."

Mrs. Kamiya waves it off. "That's not a problem," she declares. "Since Kari's clothes are too small for you, you may borrow some of mine."

"Thank you," I say. "That's very kind of you."

* * *

I lie in the mist of darkness, but the comfort brought on by the blankets comforts me to no end. If I were sleeping in my own bed, I'd have to face the void that is the ceiling, but here in the Kamiya residence I am not faced to undergo that, if only for one night out of many. Instead I face the top bunk's underside. Kari let me sleep in her bed, and she took over Tai's, who is sleeping, dreaming, on the couch. 

After much trouble, I had finally chosen what to wear as a nightgown. Since the burning crisscrosses that ran up and down the inside of my arm forbade me to wear anything that didn't cover them up, I had no choice but to wear a white long-sleeved shirt.

The choice of wear led me to ponder why I torture myself with blades, why the inside of my arm had to pay the price. At the time of pain, I had convinced myself that I meant nothing to everyone. But now, with the lying blindfold off, I can see that Tai has feelings for me. He showed it. Right before I went off for bed, he said he couldn't wait for morning. And it was all because of me.

I wish that I had gotten to slumber, dream, in Tai's bed. The one that he rests in every night. The mattress that he tosses and turns in when something's on his mind, when something won't leave him alone. Or, I wish for something better. I wish for him to hold me while dream, so we can dream together.

But he's not here.

So I turn on the mattress, in the long sleeved white shirt and underwear, and press the play button on the imaginary tape player that captured Tai's voice so marvelously.

_I can't wait for the sun to rise tomorrow… because I'll get to see you first thing._

And I can't wait, either.


	7. Rejuvenate

Author's notes: please not that Cynthia is an actual dubbed name character in the series. She appears briefly at the beginning of the twelfth episode in season two. From what was shown I believe that she's on the tennis team, too.

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Rejuvenate_

* * *

Someone once told me that my eye color has the potential to blend in with the rising sun. Why? Because both have the splashes of marvelous red, orange, and some pink. Both glow intently when there are no clouds covering them like the austere black bedspread that is the night sky. Both have the strong, passionate core that has the power to explode with sheer love or despise. The brightest star in the solar system and my eyes are one.

Or so that person said.

There's a problem, though. I can't remember who that one person was.

This thought bothers me quite a bit. And it hassles me even more that I am not completely sure why. Is my memory that incompatible? Everything that has happened since I first heard of the idea about the divorce has been a blur. It's cloudy and grey. And the feeling and sensations that it bought was not pleasant either.

Now I can feel my feet pushing against the concrete in order to make forward movements possible. There isn't a strain in the lone development. But I can't see where my feet are leading me. Which might make me giggle with psychosis. It's uncanny. I'm not in charge, but my feet are.

I'm getting the feeling that I'm walking pretty fast because I'm aware of my ginger hair swaying back and forth, bumping into my face, as I stride. Out of everything that makes me, Sora, who I am, my hair seems to be the most delicate.

My soul should have been nominated for that award.

There's been a change in this nightmare. Instead of being consumed by nothingness, in the mist of the arctic temperatures, I'm surrounded by blinding white. A bright shade. The kind one gets when a single sheet of print paper is held up to a light bulb. However, this paper must have had watercolors taint its void space because I see faint colors of the rainbow passing, colliding into each other and become one. Then multiplying.

Why can't I hear anything? I know there are things, people, around me, but I can't pick up any sounds of their presence. It's like one of those silent movies, the black and white ones, where everything is expressed through actions. Lively music plays in the background. Yet this movie is piercing white, and the soundtrack is void.

Then realization is thrown at me in form of a somewhat bulky rock. I'm in a daze; a foggy, dreamlike one where words cannot be spoken and ideas cannot be composed. I can't control my nerve endings. My senses are yelling at me, shrieking for me to discontinue walking or else I'll be hit and forced onto the floor, crushed, by rushing vehicles.

I'm just a nameless spirit wondering the land, numb to any of the five senses.

Like a rein on a wild animal, a hand comes forth and takes hold of me, restraining me from stepping off the concrete and walking straight into pounding traffic. The upper half of my body feels as if it is hanging over the black concrete. So I bounce back, my spine ironing into a straight line.

"Sora, if you're not careful and get your head out the clouds you are going to be in a lot of accidents," Tai says as he strides up beside me. The comforting hand doesn't let go of mine, and I do not want him to let go for fear of the vehicles.

"It's a good thing I'm here," he continues proudly.

It's as if he pulled me out of the unidentified realm. The fog that looms over my head and clouds my vision retreats rather quickly. Not a trace of their presence is left. There isn't a smear anywhere. My hearing has been enabled and I'm capable of taking pleasure in the raucous world. The cars' impatient horns have never been so comforting. I inhale deeply, for fear of forgetting how to breathe.

My liberator is curious. "What were you thinking of?"

What do I say to him? I do not fancy the thought of lying to him. That reason is still classified.

"Everything," I finally reply, choosing to go with the general topic.

"Everything," Tai repeats, as if tasting the word, savoring it and all that could lie behind one mere word. "Be more specific."

"Nothing." I change my mind. "Forget it."

"But Sora," Tai glances over at me, "everything means nothing. Nothing is everything."

_Everything means nothing. Nothing is everything. _

Does that make sense?

Hmm…

Hand in hand, we wait for a chance to securely cross the street, fingers intertwined.

* * *

Attention spans are taken over and heads turn as Tai and I make our way through the school campus. It's not because we're walking on the red carpet, or because there's a blinding spot light fixated on us. No, it's none of that. It's because we're holding hands. Tai is clinging on to me for dear life. And so am I. 

If being near Tai solely makes me blush, then being in the mist of a staring crowd is indescribable. Or, it was. Now I know what it's like being the focus of a group. It's intimidating and awkward, like someone examining me through a microscope. I worry about what people will think of me and Tai being this close.

Are they going to think that Tai and I are… together?

I feverishly hope so.

Before I know it, I find myself away from the stares of the judging-eyed crowds. Tai has led me to a secluded area behind some trees, and that must explain why the sunny atmosphere was unexpectedly replaced by soft shadows.

Tai is gently holding both of my hands and gazing at me intently. Unlike being in the spotlight of a crowd, having Tai's undivided attention isn't daunting. His dark eyes are not focusing on anything or anyone besides me. I know it's stupid, but it makes me feel… extraordinary. Useful. Wanted.

"Um…"

Tai seems not to know what he is going to say. I wonder if it will be a good thing or not.

"Uh…," he tries again, jittery. "Sora. C-can we hang out after school?"

And then Tai snaps his eye lids shut, as if trying to escape. As if he was trying to escape rejection or whatever negative answer I might give him. But he's wrong. I would never say anything to hurt him. Or do anything. With that thought out of my head I begin to think that Tai is asking me out on a date.

My heart skips a beat.

"I have tennis practice after school," I say, remembering a promise that I made to my mother about not skipping practice anymore. I quickly add, "But since you also have soccer, maybe we can leave together…"

Tai's eyes are opened now and looking at me bashfully. "Oh," he breathes. "Soccer practice. Right. I forgot."

He takes a moment to let it sink it, but when he blinks his eyes are reborn with a new gleam of optimism. "That's a great idea, Sora!"

Off in the distance, I can hear the bell ringing. I'm able to see the crowd stir, all heading towards the doors of the school building. It's a routine that cannot be broken.

I smile at Tai, and he returns it with his trademark grin.

"Great," he half whispers, the gleam still in his eyes as he stares into mine. "See you after practice." Then I realize that he's drifting apart from me, the grip he has on my hands is slipping. I'm about to ask where he is heading when I become conscious that we have to go to school.

* * *

"Long sleeves, Takenouchi?" 

Hmm. Just when I thought I was going to leave the girls' locker room without difficulties...

Now my apprehension of wearing a white long sleeve shirt under my tennis uniform is confirmed, just when I was beginning to think that I was going to get away with it. Since my tennis uniform has practically no sleeves, unlike my green school uniform, I could not wear it because of my foolhardy actions in the past. The crisscrossing lines running along the inside of my left arm would not allow it.

"Yes, long sleeves," I say, exhausted from dealing with the self proclaimed best player on the team. Or, 'bitch', as I have nicknamed her.

Cynthia narrows her gleaming know-it-all eyes at me and gives me her suspicious, thin smile. She opens her mouth to say something. Now I know she knows that I know she knows something. That last sentence confuses me, throwing me off guard for a second or so.

But it's all right, for the reason that she changes the subject.

"I hear you and Tai Kamiya are dating," she purrs, as if nothing but content for me, but I glimpse past that and see the scorning witch.

A lot of different thoughts scratch through me. I should be happy that my peers see Tai and me as a couple, but hearing it from Cynthia doesn't make me jump in high spirits. I know for a fact that she doesn't think too highly of me.

"Oh?" I say this as if it could go either way, as if it were both a yes and no.

Yet Cynthia merely nods her head elegantly, taking my one syllable response as a positive, reassuring one.

I cannot read her actions, or where she is planning on taking this conversation. "And?"

"And I want to give you some advice," she bursts out cheerily. Then she lowers her stuck up chin, her voice also shimmying into a warning tone, "It's better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all."

Blankly, I stare at her, expecting a comprehensive explanation. But Cynthia seems to have ended the discussion all on her own. Powerless, I watch as she shuffles past me and pushes the heavy locker room door. Of course, I follow her.

It's a surprise to both Cynthia and I to see a chocolate flavored guy leaning against the wall opposite to the girls' locker room door. He starts to grin once his eyes come across me, his faultless, star white teeth showing.

"Hi, Tai!"

The note of overwhelming glee in Cynthia's high pitched voice, contrast to the tone she just spoke to me with less than sixty second ago, is piercing. Annoying. Scorching jealously crawls through my bare skeleton as I watch her practically tackle Tai Kamiya.

But it does my health good to see him cringe at her touch.

"Uh, hey, Cynthia," he mumbles as he picks Cynthia's neatly manicured nails off of him.

It's a silent battle, but eventually Tai wins and she lets him go with a sigh but nonetheless steps to the side. Then his dark, hopeful eyes rest on me again and I swear I see them soar with elation. He then makes his way towards me and rests his hand on my shoulder, still grinning from ear to ear.

When I glance past his shoulder, I get a glimpse of Cynthia. Her face is distorted with anger, puffy red at the sight of me and the chocolate flavored one. Those lips of hers, the ones overdone with lip gloss, are pouting. Her arms are crossed across her chest, fingers digging into her skin.

She may not know it from looking at me, but I am glowing inside.

Mainly at her discomfort.

"Let's go," Tai softly says, careful not to let Cynthia hear.

* * *

"Mmm," I hum, my taste buds exploding with bliss. "This tastes great!" 

"Yeah," Tai agrees contentedly. "This is my favorite."

After school, Tai had led me all around Odiaba. Whenever he tried to tell me something, just when he started to open his mouth and let his voice ring, he either backed down or spoke about something else. The disappointment I felt was dreadful, especially when I noticed that it was getting dark. Just when I began to lose all hope a grand idea struck me like lightning. Quietly, I asked Tai if we could go eat somewhere. So, we found the nearest McDonald's.

Now we are sitting at a table covered with books and desserts. Since we did have a bit of homework and studying to get done, why not do it while pleasing our taste buds?

I dip my spoon back into the chocolate chip ice cream, scooping up the last portion of it and dropping it into my mouth, savoring the sweetness and frostiness of it.

Tai suddenly slams his textbook shut. "Are you finished with your homework?"

"A long time ago," I reply.

"Are you calling me slow?" but he says this while grinning mischievously.

"Are we playing 'Twenty Questions'?"

"Only if you want to."

Despite my hatred for obvious flirts, I giggle as I toss the empty cup that held the wonderful chocolate chip ice cream into the pile of other trash.

"Let's go," Tai says suddenly, yet softly, almost pained.

He takes care of throwing the trash away while I put our things in our bags. As I put the only text book in Tai's bag, I can't resist peeking at it a bit. But there's nothing in it but a towel, deodorant, and extra clothes. Nothing special. So I quickly zip it up and fling my own bag over my shoulder and carry his with me as we make our way out the double door.

The only thing he does as we step out of the fast food restaurant is grin at me while he takes his sports bag back and slings it over his shoulder.

We're silent as we saunter the sidewalk, the one that will lead me home, the place where I really don't want to go ever again. I've been so delighted being with Tai Kamiya. I have not been home in twenty four hours. Now I don't understand how people can be home sick. I surely don't miss my 'happy' home. But I guess the people who do get home sick actually _do _have a nice home.

Now I can't help but wonder what Tai is doing. I know he is trying to ask me out on a date, or at least I desperately want him to. Suddenly, I can't take this anymore as we are halfway to the corner that leads to the lane where my apartment complex lies. My hands rise up and rest on Tai's broad shoulders, and I turn him to so as he can face me.

There's a questioning look on his face.

I'm not sure what to say. The only thing I do is stare at him.

"Sora…" Tai also seems to be wordless. Or, I may be wrong. "I really like you," he whispers as he rests his hands on my hips. "Be my girlfriend?"

"Of course," I softly say, which is weird, because when I fantasize about this moment I always picture myself jumping with extreme bliss. But now it's anesthetizing.

Tai grins, leaning in closer to me and blinking a few times before shutting his eyelids. Now his chocolate eyes are hidden. His lips are closing in on mine. I've fantasized about this before too, but now I'm not sure that I want it. I'm not ready. So I softly push away from him.

His chocolate eyes are astonished at my actions, I can tell. In an appalling sort of way, I am also perplexed. The only thing I am able to do is shyly, faintly smile.

"I… have to get home."

"Oh."

I'm able to hear his dismay, and it's unbearable. So I turn around and start sprinting without another thought or word. I hear Tai call out to me as I turn the corner, "I'll call you!"

Now that I've turned the corner, I don't slow down my stride or turn back to catch Tai's chocolate eyes because I know for a fact that I won't be able to see him or anything else besides darkness and headlights.

Quickly, yet noiselessly, I make my way up the apartment complex's stairs and I find the door to my home. There's something telling me that it might be locked, but I find out otherwise. I'm careful in my actions, at caution not to wake my mother, Once I step inside, all I have to do is veer to the right and I'm set.

And all of this was done in the darkness.

A huge barrier was built in the short hours that I was staying overnight at Tai Kamiya's house, and the mere inconsolably hours that I spent at school, was the only thing that blocked the way to the living room. But it does not matter. I have no intentions of going into the living room at this time. So I quickly veer to the side, my fingers wrap around my bed room doorknob. With just a lone rapid spin of my wrist the door creaks open.

Now my ears are ominously buzzing. The darkness overwhelms me. I hear breathing behind me. I whirl around, and I think I see an outline of a man blocking the hallway. So it wasn't a wall. I should have known. Walls don't have broad shoulders or a hairline. Barriers don't have lips that are sketched into a disapproving frown. And those lips don't form hissing words.

"Where have you been?"

* * *


	8. Questions

* * *

**Crisscross**  
Written By: Stained In Negativity  
_Questions_

* * *

"Where have you been?" my father repeats, louder, almost screeching. Even in the mist of no light I'm able to clearly define the twitch of his jaw as he tries not to snap. I know for a fact that his eyes are narrowed with disapproval. 

Somehow, I knew this was going to be the result. But I swallow it and the acid in my stomach burns it, like one of my many hearts.

"School," I reply, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"You were at school," he repeats incredulously. It's that tone that parents use with their children when they can't believe what their kid just said.

The unpleasant silence that follows after my father's outburst leaves me fazed. I suppose it being tremendously strident one second and then inharmoniously soundless the next can have that effect on one. Then I realize that the man in front of me is pausing in his harsh lecturing only for the fact that he wishes a response from me.

My chin lowers like a child who is ashamed of their actions. But I'm the contrary. My auburn eyes suddenly find the floor beneath me interesting. This is amazing, since I'm still standing in the darkness and can't see anything well enough. Despite this I hear myself muttering, "Why do you care where I've been? It's not like you cared before."

I don't need to close my eyes to see bright colors explode in the mist of darkness as my father insists, "I do care about you! You're my life! The only reason I work is to support you and your mother."

"Then why are you divorcing Mom?" My voice thunders through the bleak darkness. My head snaps up and I feel as if I'm wielding the courage I need to confront my father for the very first time.

"Don't change the subject, Sora!"

Sora.

That's the first time I've heard him say my name in a very long time. In fact, I can't remember the last time he's called me by my first name. I'm not entirely sure what he called me before. I suppose he only looked at me, and I would feel his eyes on me and I would raise my head up and gaze back at him, wait for him to say whatever he needs to say. Is it because he forgot my name?

I thought a name was supposed to me special. It's a label to one's personality and characteristics. And parents are supposed to pick out a meaningful name for their child. If that is right, then it doesn't apply to my situation.

"We were so worried about you!" he continues rather frantically. "You left without saying anything or letting us know where you were going to be. We had no idea where to start looking for you."

"Well you would have known if you and Mom would have settled down for a moment to listen! I would have said something, but you two were arguing again! I could barely hear Tai pounding on the door while you two battled it out, and I was barely ten feet away from it!"

My father's breathing stops. Before I could practically hear him breathing heavily with rage, but now it's as if he's given up on taking pleasure in respiration.

"Tai? That boy you're always roughhousing with?"

"That was when I was _nine_, Dad. I've grown up since then."

"That is why your mother and I were so worried! You're a beautiful young woman and I thought you were…"

Even though he didn't finish his sentence, I knew what he was implying. I gag at the thought, utterly disgusted at a stranger touching me.

"For your information," I say, "I'm all right."

My father is more relaxed. "Where did you spend the night?"

"At Kari's house."

"Kari Kamiya? Tai's little sister?"

Alas, another one of my plans fail. Maybe I haven't been giving my father enough credit for paying attention to me. If he was so unconcerned for me, then he wouldn't know who my friends are, but now he seems to know who my friends' siblings are. Maybe I shouldn't blame it all on my father… no. I have to stay mad.

"Answer me, Sora," my father commands.

"_Yes_," I strain. "Kari is Tai's little sister."

"And they live in the same house?"

"_Yes_."

"So, what you're saying is that you stayed over at Kari Kamiya's house, who is Tai's sister?"

I stop myself from answering and mentally slap myself. Oh, Sora, you walked into that one. How could I have been so blind as to not have seen that one coming? Of course my father wasn't going to be as stupid as to believe I was Kari's guest and not Tai's. Maybe Mrs. Kamiya was oblivious to it yesterday, but my father isn't thoughtless. I can just hear what he's thinking right now, how careless I was being. It's not like I slept with Tai. And we didn't even sleep in the same room.

"We're just friends," I whisper meekly.

Who am I kidding? I think it's obvious to my father that I have feelings for Tai. That, or it was obvious to Mom and she told him. But weren't they supposed to be fighting? Ugh. I don't like how this day is ending. To think I was having so much fun earlier…

To prove my thoughts correct, and my father urges, "That's how it starts out! I know boys like those! They pick out the sweetest girls, pretend to love her for all they are worth, they take what they wanted her for and then they leave the poor girl in the dust!"

I'm sure my face is as red as my hair. I can't believe what he's saying. Why is he so against me and Tai being together? He doesn't know the first thing about me, so I doubt he knows anything besides that his name is Tai Kamiya and he has a little sister named Kari. I don't think my father has ever met Tai. And why is he taking this time to suddenly care for my safety? When I came home I just wanted to sleep in my bed of nails. Instead I put up with this.

"Tai's not like that!" I protest.

Surprisingly, my father is calmer. "Sora, please listen to me. I don't want you getting hurt by this boy."

Now I'm at the brink of tears. I think he's suggesting that I don't see Tai every again. But he has no right doing that, correct? It's not appropriate for him to judge. "Tai would never intentionally hurt me. He's my friend!"

"Which is another reason why you shouldn't date him. You might ruin a great friendship."

"Our friendship is strong enough to handle it!"

Honestly, I don't know why I said that. I never thought of it like that before. Of course I knew our friendship was put together with cement, but the thought of being with Tai has never occurred until barely twenty-four hours ago.

"And," I continue, a little bit more coolly, "we'll never know how strong it is until we put it to the test."

My father is still incredulous. "You want to risk a great thing in a test?"

"Dad," I yell, "please stay out of this! You haven't taken an interest in my life before so why are you worried now?"

"Oh, are we back to this?" he groans. "Sora, please, it isn't like that. I love you very much; don't make me out to be the bad guy-"

When the light flashes on, I realize that the whole scene was silly. We are arguing in the dark about something we already set aside at the beginning of the conversation, if it be put lightly. I do not know how to feel when I see my mom standing by the light switch, her face pale with confusion and her eyes shinning with something I have never seen in them before.

Her voice is soft. "Why are you two arguing in the dark at _this_ time of night?"

My father practically jumps to accuse me.

"Sora didn't come home last night because she was sleeping at Tai Kamiya's house!" he explains a bit harshly.

"No, I was staying with Kari!" I protest, but I know the ship has sunk. But I don't want to drown just yet. Not without a fight. "It was just a coincidence that Tai lives under the same roof! Don't blame me because they're related!"

"Calm down," my mother pleads, and then hurriedly walks over and seizes me by the shoulders. I see the worn out expression in her eyes as she checks me over making sure that I am back in one piece, unscathed and whole.

When she's finished, she sighs and calmly asks, "Is what your father said true?"

"No, of course not," I say. "I was staying with Kari, and Tai just happens to be her brother."

"Toshiko," my father says, calling her by her first name. "Can't you see the plan? It was obvious that she and Tai asked Kari to say Sora was her guest and not Tai's."

I know I'm being paranoid when I think I was double crossed by the Kamiyas. I mean, I know they wouldn't get me in trouble, especially know that Tai and I are on to something. Kari is too much of a darling to tattle. I suppose my father deserves a few kudos for figuring it out all by himself.

My mom looks at me again. "Is this true, Sora?"

"Of course not," I reply promptly. "Kari asked me to go over her house because she needed help on her math assignments, and when it was done she asked my stay overnight. Like a girl's night."

"Please don't lie, Sora," my father says, exhausted. "You told me earlier that Tai came over here and practically knocked down the door trying to get someone's attention."

"Kari sent him to get me," I say, and I give myself a mental, quiet hug for thinking of the reply so quickly.

"Why doesn't Tai his little sister?" my father asks. I bet he's trying to corner me again.

I offer a grin. "Actually, it's the other way around. Kari knows more about math than Tai does. She's the one teaching him."

But he keeps at it. "What about the mother?"

"She doesn't want to teach her daughter the wrong things."

"The father?"

"Working late."

I win. I almost laugh out loud in triumph, but I still have this charade to keep up.

We're silent for a few seconds as my father and I wait for my mom's reaction. By glancing at her face, I can tell she isn't paying attention to any of this. She's tired from all the fighting, I'm sure. When she put her hand up to her forehead as if she was checking her temperature I knew she was probably half asleep through the whole explanation.

My father senses his future defeat and starts at it again.

"Toshiko," he says, "Sora spent the night with Tai. Aren't you suspicious that they…"

"No!" I object, completely aware of what he was implying. "I would never do that with someone who I'm not with! Tai and I are still friends. And his parents were there in the apartment. I slept in Kari's bed, she slept in Tai's and he slept on the couch in the living room. Besides… I'm not ready for that yet."

"Yet?" my father repeats incredulously, furious. He turns to my mother. "Did you hear her, Toshiko?"

"Ugh," she groans. "You're overreacting. I raised Sora to be a responsible young woman. I can trust her and you should too. Now, please, let's go to sleep. We'll talk about this in the morning."

I win.

For now.

With a hidden smile, I pick up my bags from the floor beside my leg, spin around and open my bedroom door to step inside. When I close the door, I am devoured by the silence. It was the same one that always lurked in the room. The same one I yearned for until twenty four hours ago. The one I used to drown myself in until either the sun rose or my mother pulled my out of the room. The darkness doesn't help the situation either. I change into my night clothes without turning on the light, but when I lay in bed I leave the radio softly playing so as not to drown ever again as I dispatch into slumber.


	9. Swings

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity_  
Swings_

* * *

"You look tired," he simply remarks, gazing at me intensely. I'm falling into a habit of staring right back at him with a matched intensity of the gaze. And who wouldn't want to gaze into chocolate? So creamy and delicious…

"I am." I heave a sigh. "My dad caught me sneaking in. He lectured me about being out late, how much he and my mom worried, and so on. He even gave me a little information about the nature of men."

Tai looks confused. His gaze falls from my face and concentrates on the ground. "The nature of men?" he asks.

I giggle. "He said that most boys your age just lie to girls so that they can get them to do what they want."

"And that would be…" his voice trails on, expecting me to finish his sentence, but then he jumps once he realizes what I was referring to. He slightly frowns, his brown orbs turning into revolted silts. "Not all of us are like that. Some of us are different from the others," he points out.

"I know."

Relief. I hoped he would say that. If I squint my eyes and see between those words, I can see a completely different sentence.

_I am different from the others._

And I can't help the blissful smile that glazes my face.

The time and place just feels so right. Though we are isolated in a playground, it was not a problem. The shades of darkness loom, painting our surroundings with shades of grey and black, the colors of depression and void. The reds, yellows and blues on the other jungle gyms and such were faded, like they haven't been used for years. With our green uniforms on, we were the only sources of life, the only things that didn't belong. How could a place of play for the young be so forlorn? The air was thick, unbelievingly tranquil. Even the usual azure sky was a pallor grey as if it was shaded in lightly with a number two pencil.

Cold. It is just cold.

The squeak the swings make as Tai and I lazily move back and forth is the only basis of comfort. But it, too, sticks into the atmosphere, making it seem annulled and weary. Like a prisoner slowly walking in chains, eyes on the floor, a black future ahead. Both Tai and I are silent, each of us holding on to the swings' chains, just waiting. But I can never understand what we're waiting for. It's like one of those moments were someone is telling you the answer to a math problem, but you're concentrating so much you can't hear them. All you can hear is your silence. A silence that is too loud for your liking.

Every muscle in my body aches. I'm still breathless from tennis practice. I'm getting weary of glancing down at my crisscrosses when I am recovering. A wave of anger and foolishness overcomes me when I see them. I am still tired of living the same exact day over and over again. But I'm working on that. Always work, work, work and work but never results, only the same weary mind. I'm still hungry for something with more meaning. That pit in my stomach will not go away, and it'd getting to the point where I'm doing everything and anything I can to make it go away for just a few seconds so I can see the old Sora.

"Wait," Tai says suddenly, head snapping up and gazing at me again. My thoughts vanish. "You're dad thinks I'm one of _those_ guys?" I can see his chocolate eyes drowning in disappointment.

"Well-"

"Be honest."

I frown. "Yes."

At hearing this, his eyebrows form into a worried line. He looks away from me, as if afraid I see him through the same eyes as my father. Why does he even care? I have never thought as Tai as one who gives a hoot for what another person thinks of him. It explains why he will not drop the subject.

"Why?" he continues to ask.

"I'm not sure," I respond quietly. I hope he can't hear my uncertainty in my voice, but whenever I hope for something it usually turns out to be the opposite. "I think it has something to do with you being an athlete."

Tai does something with his teeth and lips that sounds like a _pfft._ "That's stereotype," he states.

_I am different from the others._

I nod in agreement. "Don't worry about my dad. He was just mad because I didn't phone home and tell them were I was for twenty four hours."

"I thought you told your mom you were going out with me," Tai says.

"Nope." I grimace. "They were shouting so loudly at each other that I just ran out of the apartment without saying anything. When they asked where I had been, I told them I was helping Kari out with her math homework, and that I ended up staying over."

Suddenly there is an awkward silence. Everything just stops. It's like I ran out of things to say, or my tongue was cut out. I always fear this will happen when I am with Tai. If he thinks I'm not talking to him because I do not like him, he will leave. And I don't want that to happen.

So I look back down at the ground, biting my lower lip. It's the second phase of the cycle. Whenever I stop talking or accidentally ending the conversation, I ignore everything and anyone around me. Even Tai. And I don't want to scare him off. Ugh. I do not know what's wrong with me. I don't want to scare him off. I love Tai.

…What did I just think?

I'm going to be candid with myself.

I love Tai. Love. Is that what this feeling is? My heart literally swells. My gut's empty. Sometimes it even twists and turns like a roller coaster, always bending in ways it should not be, always taking turns that don't even exist. This has happened so much I think it's permanently damaged. Everything that I eat is bland, tasteless, like water. I know the nutrients are there, but where's the zest?

When I set my mind to something, I can ignore the ache in my heart. The whole concept is so cliché. But I literally feel like that. Who would have known wanting someone romantically would hurt physically? When the realization of liking Tai Kamiya like this let itself become known, I panicked. What else was I supposed to do? I looked in the mirror one day and asked myself if I was the type of girl he would want. Adventurous, like him. But I saw myself frown, and that never washed off my face until now.

I've always been told that love is unexplainable. Now I know what that means. I think I sigh out loud, but I'm not sure. All of this is way too much to handle.

Is this what love is? Confusion?

Or maybe it's something like what my parents have. Where you love someone too much for your own good. But I don't think this is the case with my parents. They've grown apart, and it worries me because I am the only one not blinded by fantasies and lies to see it. Love is blind, I've been told. But I never want to lose sight of this magnificent world, not even after death. Sometimes I wish I did, though, because then I wouldn't have to see my parents exchange weary, disgusted glances at each other. It's brittle. It's uncanny. They're married and in love.

If that's love, then I don't want it.

"Sora?" Tai's voice comes. I glance over at him. The chains of the swings are in my way, so I have to tilt my head a little to see his face clearly. It has not changed in the past moments since I've last seen him, but we're growing, slowly coming out of that shells and spreading our wings to fly away and hopefully never come back.

"Yes, Tai?"

Slowly, he extends a hand toward me. I hesitantly glance down at it, wondering if there's something in his palm that he is offering to me, but the only thing I see is nothing. Nothing at all. But I did notice that his hand is slightly trembling. From a distance the action would seem secure, but from up close I can see that he's nervous for some reason.

Feeling empty and uncertain, I take his hand. And then I don't know what happens. So many thoughts and feelings overwhelm me. I recognize the electric vibes running through my veins as anxiety. I'm pretty sure my hand is trembling too. I've always been too small for this world. Fragile, like a dandelion.

"Hold on to me when you feel like you're breaking," he says sympathetically, gently giving my hand a squeeze.

How did he know? Can he see my heart slowly ripping itself apart? Questions, questions and questions but never enough answers. I'd be lucky if I had any at all. And to make it even better, my mouth is overwhelmed with resentment. It's horrible, to say the least. Like warm water, that's been in a balmy atmosphere for hours, after an intense practice. The world also seems to be against me, because it's spinning, colors swirling into one brilliant yellow.

It hurts.

I'm ashamed. Why am I such a foolish person? Those crisscrosses on my arms were a mistake. I still don't know why I feel this way. Helpless. And worse of all, stupid as I feel myself drowning. But it gets worse. What am I drowning in? A two foot deep puddle of mud. Or I was. I used to struggle to breathe; I used to find it difficult to carry on. Every ounce of my energy was wasted on maintaining my head above the mud.

Now I'm struggling to breathe again. My face literally feels like it is burning, like someone is roughly pressing a knife into the skin on my face. They must have started from the bottom of my eyes, because the blood dripped down in streams like a cynically painted river. Someone suddenly ruthlessly stabbed my in through the heart, my soul, and now I must bleed.

The person beside me on the swings turns his head to look at me, bewildered. Without getting off his swing, he comes over to me, practically hanging from his seat, and lays his hands on my shoulders to make me face him. I close my eyes, not wanting him to see me pained expression. What must Tai think of me now? One second I'm happy as a three year old playing in the park, the next I explode with twinge without warning.

"Sora? Sora what happened?"

Shame. I try to fight my way out of his firm grasp, but he is holding on too strongly and I cannot get away. But at least I can turn my head to the side, letting my ginger hair fall across my cheek closest to Tai's face, and close my orbs. I shiver as I feel my acidic tears drool down my face. I can imagine how ugly I must look, how pathetic and delicate I am.

But Tai is persistent. His slips out of his swing, the echo of the seat bouncing off the metal poles breaking the looming silence like thunder. My body becomes warm as Tai leans in front of me, his hands grasping either side of my head.

And the world is still. We stay in that position. I, on the swing, teary eyed. Tai, crouched in front of me, his hands holding my chin up. I snap my eyelids shut. I know he's gazing at me, sympathy glazing his chocolate orbs. But I'm afraid he's judging me instead. The fingers on my lap start to tremble, tempted to reach up and pull Tai's body into mine.

But I stay put.

I decide to open my eyes again only after my breathing has been restored to normal. My head's spinning from the lack of oxygen and from the access heat I am getting from his body, but I am okay with it. I see a close up of Tai's face after the white flash that waited to escape from underneath my eyelids has passed. Nothing's changed in his profile. Everything is round and a sugary dark.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly.

"Everything," I manage to allege. Every fiber within me is miserable as my eyes have dried but my cheeks are still tear stained.

"Everything," he repeats. Tai's always thinking, even if he may seem a bit off track at times. He's always listening. "Be more specific," he encourages.

I sniffle. "It hurts."

His face is dangerously close to mine. "What does?"

There can be so many answers to this. My legs from practice. My head from the way the earth spins without a continuous, sensible rhythm. My eyes from the saline and tartness of my stupid tears. The insides of my arms from the hasty slicing and rending, from the sharp objects that scarred and penetrated my skin. But I can't say any of these because of disgrace.

"My heart." My lips tremble as I speak. I'm sure I sound frail. Always like a dandelion, never a lion. The wind itself could damage me in so many ways. It could blow away my cover, leaving me bound to the ground, choking on my own cries for help as a crowd grows around me, simply staring and never doing anything.

"Why?" Tai asks. It is a mere whisper among the hushed atmosphere.

_Because of you, _I want to say. But I can't, and I won't. So I just stay mute, a helpless doll.

Time passes. Silence settles.

The tranquility is all at once stunningly broken.

My heartbeat stops.

I'm alive.

My skin tingles.

My lips burn.

I feel beautiful.

He pulls away from me, to my dismay. I've never seen him so red before. It makes his features more exotic, more sun kissed to the touch and feel. His lips are bruised, I notice, more red and purple than their natural color. Our faces are still close. The tips of our noses are lightly toughing. A shiver surges up and down my spine, aware of what just happened. I re-run it in my mind like a movie, and my cheeks flush, too. My hands slightly reach down to rest them on his shoulders, for balance. I let him become my support beam.

He isn't so intimidating anymore…

Our breathing steadies into one slowly, as the seconds tick away and the wind carries past melodies into our eardrums. The whole time I am admiring the monotonous chips and woods on the playground floor, so when I look back into his chocolate eyes I see something different in them. It throws me off track for a second, but I regain my composure without Tai noticing and sink into him again.

What's missing? The confident gleam that swims in the chocolate puddles that he has for orbs?

But I stop thinking.

My hands find themselves on the back of Tai's neck, which is surprisingly soft, and I hesitantly bring his head toward mine. As I do that, I delicately close my eyelids, for once in my life happen to be in the embrace of darkness. I stop breathing for a split second as his lips brush against mine once again, but this time I am ready for it. Too many sensations pass through my body as the spur of the moment blooms. Happiness. Anxiety. After a few seconds of the discomfiture, he kisses me back, and it becomes deeper.

I feel vigorous. It's like his energy is passing into my body, like he wants me to come out of this sullen shell. I wonder if he can feel my scars, if he can trace them with the tips of his nimble fingers. Can he envision the crisscrossing on my arms, with their dried blood and different stories behind them? What will he think? My thoughts are distracted when Tai tries to rest his hands on my hips, but our position is too awkward. I know it's funny, but I don't laugh.

I instead I break everything. My lips tear away from his; I slightly shove his body away from mine. I do not deserve affection. I squeeze my eyes and bite my lower lip. If I can, I will wipe Tai's happiness off of my pallid lips, but I can't, and I won't. These kinds of decisions are too hard for me to make. The knife is back, and it's as callous as ever. I shiver, something that I seem to be doing a lot, and open my eyes. I need to see Tai's expression.

The droplets of water are hanging from my eyelashes. As the seconds tick by they either dissolve into the atmosphere, or drop down and run down my cheeks. I am able to see dark puddles, but my vision is too blurry. Scared, I start to breath uneasily. Why is it that I am the only one who is paranoid?

Tai doesn't retreat. He comes back to me. His hands are back, holding my chin up so I have no other choice but to look him straight in the eye. I see sympathy. I see a girl with dark ginger hair, her skin an unhealthy pallid of forgotten sunshine. The painter of the girl drew her mouth to be a thin line of wretchedness. She could have been beautiful, if she smiled.

That's… me.

I know nothing of what I feel inside. This new version of me is not understandable; I don't know what to make of it. I won't.

But I look into his deeper eyes and I understand.

I sniffle. A shiver surges through my as Tai's thumbs wipe the tears away from my cheeks.

"Did..." Tai pauses, steadying his words. He reluctantly sits back on his swing, taking his heat with him and leaving me freezing. The moment he makes contact with his black leather seat he breaks into an enormous grin. "Did you tell anyone that you're my girl?"

I don't think he's leaving me.

"I-" I'm blushing. "I… don't have anyone else to tell."

Tai's bronzed skin is glowing with a cherry hue. "But… you _are_ my girl, right?"

I know he's not leaving me.

"Yes," I say, almost giggling with merriment.

The smile on his face reassures me.

I take his hand again.

We start swinging, still holding on to each other's hand. The air is brushing against my face, and I gratefully breathe in, thankful for the day. I never thought of it before, but fresh air is so wonderful. Every time I need to feel rejuvenated, I just calm myself down and notice the little things. The setting sun's serene rays on my face feel so unreal, like a dream. Wasn't it just cloudy before? But I know I'm not allowed to dream. I still can't, I still won't. But I allow myself to rid the filth and start from the beginning.

The passing wind will rid me of scars for good. Hopefully.

Now we're swinging higher. With just one hand holding on to the swing I can't help but to fear falling. What would happen if I came crashing down to the ground like a bird with shattered wings? I remember a pigeon lying on the sidewalk, its beady dark eyes opened as it appeared to be forsaken and deceased. The wind blows its grey lifeless feathers away, a symbol of termination in the fresh air. The city people stroll right past it, always preoccupied with their own lives, never noticing the small body on the cold pallid cement. Though he is surrounded by living and feeling beings, he dies abandoned, viewing first hand the cruel world that he somehow managed to live in. And the cold pigeon always will see this, even after life, even after death. Dark eyes vacantly stare.


	10. Lesion

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity_  
Lesion_

* * *

They are healing. The red gashes on the inside of my arm are slowly but surely leaving. To my eyes, they seem to delicate, as if a single movement of my arm will cause the transparent seal to rip, and the twinge will start once again. But I know otherwise. It is after tennis practice, and so far nothing has happened. Everything is well. I do not bleed, I do not hurt, and my secret is not revealed.

Nothing.

The only things I receive are odd looks and glances toward my long sleeves, the only things I hear are whispers behind my back.

Nothing.

Now all I have to do is make it out of the girls' locker room alive. It's true, what the public see in the movies. There are mean girls in every school, and the average, quiet girls can't go a year without having an encounter with one of them. Unfortunately, my tennis team is made up of those types the girls. The stereotypes. The kind that have their noses stuck in the air and the type that are constantly dieting because they think they're fat when in reality they're all skin and bones.

I stop thinking about what makes me angry and focus on making sure I look half way decent.

The person inside of the mirror is staring back at me vacantly. There are ugly bags under her eyes, the rims of her auburn orbs a sheer black. Amethyst and crimson do not match; one's too interesting for the other. But the tainting color is not as visible because it lays upon bronze, a shade that somehow manages to make all others disappear in its presence. Self consciously, I pull a strand of ginger behind my ear and attempt to smooth out the waves.

After what seems like eternities, I am a little reassured about my appearance.

But my reflection says otherwise. The ginger haired girl is still not completely there. Sure, she might be there, she and her uncertain smile. Her scars. But she's just remains of what had been, what could have been. A good for nothing empty shell.

I gasp, hopefully not loud enough to attract attention to myself. But of course, no one would have noticed anyway. I close my eyes, balancing myself. A few seconds ago I thought someone pulled the ground from underneath me, as if I was two seconds short of landing right on my face. I would have been shattered like a vase carelessly thrown at the tiles of a kitchen. But I didn't. Not yet.

Gathering my valor, I look back inside of the mirror. I remember the darkest corner of the room, the one that is always painted with shadows, the one that was home to _her_. It seems as if I haven't escaped her. I should have known. I She didn't just live in my mirror, she lived in every mirror I ever glanced into, like Bloody Mary.

But my appearance was far worse.

Fatigue.

I grimace.

Imperfection.

I frown.

If I had a rock I would break this mirror, too.

Dejected, I sigh. There's nothing I can do that will make me look better. Pretty. So I turn my back to the mirror, the reflection, and zip up my gym back that lies upon the counter. Slinging it over my shoulder, I head for the heavy door that leads to the outside world. This part of tennis practice, or should I say after practice, I like. It's the one of the few things that causes a faint smile and a flare in my soul to quietly glow. For twenty four hours, I won't be forced to go through the agony of listening to shallow remarks.

But my smile drops from my face as I hear a snobbish coo behind me. "Sora."

I cease walking. Just when I thought I was going to get out in one peace… My hand immediately comes up to where my heart is supposed to be and clutches the fabric of my green uniform, like I am having a stroke. I probably am. No exaggerations.

Reluctantly, I turn on my heel to face my caller. I offer a fake, awkward grin at the girl who is wearing a glossed smirk. Like any other teenage girl, her face is painted so that her eyes will stand out and her cheekbones are made sure to be noticed. The eyebrows above her orbs do wonders to define her bone structure, her stunning face. Her faultless hair is waving like a flag behind her, each step she is taking adding to her own wind of reign. Everything about her screams overconfident. No, she is overconfident.

She's Cynthia.

"Hey," I greet, but it is not a warm welcoming. Neither is it cold.

Nonetheless she does not notice. She stops about three feet away from me, and even from here I can smell her fragrance. It is posh, of course.

We're silent. I bet she's observing things about me as I am of her, and I already know she does not think too highly of me so I don't expect her thoughts to be very kind or sympathetic. I do not have a reason for this, though. I never did anything to her. I guess I am just one of those people that are not very well liked by others.

The pink sheen of a smile on Cynthia's lips is growing even wider. The skin on her face is stretching so much the corners of her eyes are nonexistent, her pupils wide with baleful delight.

"Your hair is so pretty," she compliments.

It takes me some time to respond. I cannot decipher if this is fake, like the rest of her and everything else she has said and done in the past, or if she is sincere. But truthfulness is not one of her strong points, and if this is an honest compliment I should be in a severe shock.

"The color is so beautiful," my teammates continues.

I do not hesitate. "My hair's always been this color," I say, probably spitting out the words so that she will be distraught.

"But it looks so much more incandescent recently," Cynthia notes, completely ignoring my retort. She does not give up, does she? I have my mouth open to tell her I need to leave, that I am expected home soon, but she says, "Is it because Tai's your new boyfriend?"

I close my mouth, taken aback. Coming from her, the comment, the truth, seems like a lie. A delusional, head-in-the-cloud fantasy that some fan girl has made up to entertain her giggling friends. Not conscious to it, I narrow my eyes at Cynthia, who is merely standing in front of me, the smirk still glued on her perfect face. How much does she know? And how does she know? I thought Tai said I could be the one to brag that I am his girlfriend. He wouldn't go against my word to keep the relationship sort of a secret, would he? Maybe he would if I had told him why…

I realize that Cynthia is waiting for an answer. It wasn't a rhetorical question.

"I have to go," I say, and turn on my heel, the door clear in my sights. But Cynthia steps from behind me and acts like a road block.

"No, no," she insists, reaching out and holding my shoulders. "We don't hang out very much. Let's talk for a while."

Now I'm not facing the back of the locker room anymore. I can see the orange lockers are all closed, I can see the dirty walls from previous graffiti stains. I realize it isn't as hot as it was a few minutes ago, and that's probably because most of the girls from my team are leaving. Or, left. Only one is remaining, and I can see that she is packing a text book in her book bag. Mutely, I watch her leave the room, her foot disappearing past the heavy doors, it slamming shut and briefly echoing throughout the now isolated locker room.

Isolated, except for two.

I bite down my tongue in order to keep from screaming in irritation, and possibly fear. Maybe a combination of both. A growl is growing in my throat, and I too keep that down. My hair will not suffer from being pulled out by my fingers. No matter how well I try to hide my emotions, I see that the smirk Cynthia is wearing is widening. I stare darkly at her, feverishly wishing she can see my hatred for her reflected among the auburn in my orbs. Blind as she is, she probably doesn't.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask reluctantly. My tongue tingles with abhorrence.

Cynthia gives off one of those high pitched giggles that sends the image of shattering glass run across my mind's eye.

"Everything," she replies. She even waves her hand as if she were shooing away a fly. She sighs deeply. I bet she's exhausted from fake merriment. It must be very tiring. "I have a marvelous idea," she continues. "Let's catch up on Sunday. We can do a little shopping while we're at it."

Catch up? We do not even have anything to catch up on. Our accountantship has solely been based on competition, loathe and possibly envy. I do not know why she would ever be jealous of me, but I never said she was doing the envying. That's all me. I am a bit ashamed to admit it, but sometimes I wish I could be more confident like her. That's the characteristic that makes others want to be around her, whereas I'm not so entertaining. We're almost polar opposites. She makes me hate myself. But I take another look at her, trying to see what is beneath the makeup, but I realize that there isn't anything there. It is only then that I appreciate what I am. Or start to.

"Well?" Cynthia urges me. "Are we shopping or what?"

Should I? I don't have anything to do, and maybe I can get her to buy me a few things, since we're _friends_, and I am using that term very, very, very lightly.

"Sure," I finally say.

We smile at each other like best friends taking pictures, a Kodak moment, but she and I both know it is fake.

Cynthia suddenly takes out a magazine from out of nowhere- well, somewhere, but I truly don't care- and she shoves it in my face. It's too close for me to distinguish what it is, but it must have something to do with makeup because I recognize one of the logos, plus the cover is glittery with shades I know are in this season.

"You can borrow this," my arrogant teammate offers. "It'll help you. On Sunday we can go to the salon, too, and get you a makeover."

My eyebrows curve downward.

Should I be offended? Because I am.

Numbly, I roll up the magazine and stuff it into my gym bag. I don't care if she says something about the periodical being crumbled, I just want to go home and relax. Cynthia doesn't seem to mind.

Still smiling. "I can't wait until Sunday."

"Me too," I agree. Nothing could be further from the truth, though.

Cynthia's staring at me weirdly. I wonder if my facial expression gave away my true feelings. But her watch isn't accusing or offended, it's observing. She's watching something on my forehead, I decide. Maybe someone thought it would be funny to write _I hate Cynthia _on my forehead, but that's taking it to the extreme.

I explode. "What are you staring at?"

Cynthia's fingers twitch at the sides of her body. "Your eyebrows need fixing," she states vacantly, and unzips her purse to look for something. Tweezers, most likely.

"No they don't," I object. My eyebrows are in the fact what people complement me most on, besides my eyes or my brilliant hair. They say my eyebrows make me my expressions look soft, innocent yet compelling. "My eyebrows are just fine."

"But I see a stray hair," she says. Now her hand is out of her purse and she is holding up a gleaming tweezer above her head, as if trying to make the lights above us grace it. I suppress a groan of frustration. If I wasn't so mad I would be laughing right now.

"I can fix it when I get home," I retort. "A stray hair won't kill me."

"But of course it will!"

Cynthia seizes me by the shoulder with one hand on the count of the other one being busy with the beauty utensil. I wiggle, trying to get away from her, but she is surprisingly strong. I feel stupid all of a sudden. Why don't I just let my gym bag fall to the ground before I fight her off? I toss of the extra load to the ground. As I turn my head to face her, something roughly brushes against me, the pointy tip burying into my skin. It travels from the tip of my eyebrow to the end of my jaw, and it stops when I cease moving.

I push away from the other girl. My hand comes up the side of my face as I almost lose my balance, but luckily I find support on a counter. To my shame, I'm shivering. It wasn't cold, but I still had goose bumps forming on my skin. It's a while before I can say anything, and when I do manage to open my mouth, I taste salt. It reminds me of a late sunset weeks ago, one where I was slumped against my desk admiring the early shadows fall through my uncovered window. An arm on my lap, bleeding…

* * *

The cold floor of the nurse's office is actually pretty nice. The tile are white, but if one looks very closely at it one can see the faint grey dots among the brilliant red ones. One set of them are not real, one set of them are. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were faded droplets of blood, too. They have the same shape, the same feeling. But the ones on the tiles are meant to be for design, whereas the crimson stains are from dull anguish. 

Same difference, though, right?

Right?

Right?

Right.

I really do not like where I am right now. Or, should I say, the circumstances. The shadow that suddenly falls across the creative discoloration I am admiring is shallow. The black is transparent and fake. I do not know how it can be, but that is truthfully what it is. I do not even want to glance up to see Cynthia's glossed smirk. Doesn't she ever get tired from grinning? There's nothing to grin about, besides my suffering.

The only part I can see of Cynthia is her shoes. They're white, just like the floor. I lean over just a little bit more so that I might be able to taint it, just as I did the ground. But she evidently realizes what I am trying to do because she steps back a bit. And I can't lean over more so that I can follow through on my plan, because then I'll fall over. I do not need another injury.

So I wipe the idea off my mind and concentrate on the blood dripping from my face. It's ironic how I keep on getting injured. Both purposely and accidentally. I wouldn't be bleeding terribly right now, but on my way to the nurse's office, as my hand covered the part of my ruined face, my nail poked through the thin opening of the wound and made the cut worse. More blood. It was not a surprise, and I was having too much fun playing with the gash to give a damn.

Who would have thought tweezers could be so dangerous?

It's not funny.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," the owner of the shadows says in her sweet coated voice.

I don't say anything.

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

_Go to Hell. _

"No," I say quietly. "Just go home."

I can practically see her shrug nonchalantly, as if nothing. I see her shadow move as she does, and it isn't long before I can barely see any of her. But I can still hear exclaim, "See you Sunday!"

Not likely.

Cynthia seems like she has run into someone, because I can hear her mumble, "Sorry…" It doesn't catch my interest, though. I hope she gets hurt like I did. Maybe that would bring her down a peg or two. But I know that will never happen.

Someone else enters the room. This somewhat surprises me, because it is after school and any normal person would have gone home already. Who'd want to at school more than they have to? The first thing I see about the new comer is his brown shoes. There's a flash of faint gold as I look up, and my jaw practically hits the floor at realization of who it is.

I sit up straight. "Matt! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the blond smoothly replies as he makes his way to the chair across from me. His green jacket is still buttoned, but it seems wrinkled. He more of sinks into the seat than sits in it, and as soon as his back is leaning against the chair for support he fumbles with something in his uniform pant's pocket. But his other hand is resting in his lap, limp.

We hold eye contact. Though he's looking at me, I feel as though he's looking right past me, right threw me. Maybe it has something to do with his eye color. Cerulean. The color of depression and cold. Possibly hate. I don't know a lot of people who are like him, with his eye and hair color. His little brother has the same colors as him, but he's softer, warmer. Everything about Matt Ishida is both emotionally and physical brawny. Serious.

I hope he can't see the truth about me.

"Sora?"

I shake my head, on tenterhooks to get thoughts rid of. "Hmm?"

"I asked you a question," he says. Like his expressions, I can never read his tone of voice. It's always deep and calm. Like waves at the beach.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, then wince at what I was about to say. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh." He's motionless, eyes never leaving my face. But he seems to be gazing at someone else, not me. "I asked you why you're in here."

"Cynthia attacked me," I spat out, and then recoiled. I didn't mean to sound so self-important. I'm not.

Matt raises a thin, barely noticeable eyebrow. "Cat fight?"

I actually smile. The way he said those two words were so funny. I can't explain it.

"What'd she stab you with? Eyeliner? Tweezers?"

My sudden silence answers that question for him.

"Damn," he remarks, frowning. "That's just wrong."

I nod. "I think it was on accident. She was talking to me in the locker room, and after she invited me to go to the mall with her on Sunday she said something about my eyebrows needing tweezing, and next thing I know I'm here."

Matt is silent for a minute. I hypnotically stare into cerulean. "There's nothing wrong with your eyebrows," he finally says.

"That's what I told her."

The blond guessed the rest. "She didn't listen. Maybe she should trade the tweezers in for some cotton swabs."

I laugh. It's good to hear that there are other people who are not fond of people. Or at least that's what I assume. Matt wouldn't speak badly about someone that he does like, right? It goes against his morals. I've known him for five years, and he's changed a lot since then. But one thing that hasn't changed in him is that loyal quality.

The nurse finally comes and cleans out my wound. With Matt watching, a permanent shy smile is painted on my face. Whenever I feel someone's eyes on me, it makes me want to smile out of embarrassment. I'm so focused on cerulean that I do not even notice that the nurse is doing to my face. I lose my senses. Does the liquid she is cleaning out my wound with sting? Will this injury leave a scar? Does it even matter?

I wonder what Tai will say about my new flaw.

Tai!

I forgot about him. I visibly frown. Wasn't he supposed to meet me right after practice? Since I was a little late, because of Cynthia, he probably left. Did he think I ditched him? I would never… I need to talk to him after I get out of here.

But when the nurse said I was free to go, I didn't leave. I continued to sit across from Matt Ishida. He was silent the whole time, waiting patiently to be attended by the nurse.

"Are you here because of your arm?" I ask, my observations finally registering with my brain. The arm he had rested in his lap hasn't moved at all. I can tell his other hand was playing with keys, probably the keys to his apartment.

"Yeah," he coolly replies. A few strands of his gold hair fall across his face, covering the cerulean. Since he won't leave the keys alone, and since his other hand is useless, he can't put the locks back into place. He shakes his head about until he can see clearly again.

Realizing that I am staring at him, I blink and ask, "What happened?"

"Accident." Matt is quiet for a second, staring back at me vacantly as if deciding what he can safely tell me. Suddenly, he looks away from me and says so quietly that I have to strain my ears, "Karma is something that I'd rather not say. But it does rhyme with 'witch'."

I giggle.

For some reason, I remember that the last conversation I had with the blond was about his younger brother managing to get his whole family together for a fancy dinner. I know Matt doesn't think too highly of his mother, and from the ways he says things and describes it, it seems she doesn't think much of her ex-husband.

"Oh, that reminds me. How did your family dinner go?"

"Horrible," he groans, as if he was in pain by just thinking about it. "It was going well at first, but then everything was thrown in a brown paper bag, set on fire and launched straight to Hell."

Realizing that it wasn't the right time to ask him such questions, I frown and tell him things will get better between his two halves of a family.

I grin to add to my words. The skin on my face moves, probably from the shocked muscles, causing pain to dully merge. But it doesn't stop my merriment. The sort of band aid looking thing numbs its affects a bit.

He smiles faintly back at me. But I notice something different in it, in him. The sheepish grin is forced. It's not the same as a true smile, where cerulean is ecstatic and shimmering like the sun's rays on placid water. One is able to see what is truly lurking beneath the transparent surface. One can see the demons swimming, a vague trace of blackness among crystals.

No emotion, no feeling, no pain.

Like scars.

I glance down at my index finger as it delicately traces the pattern of crisscrosses through the fabric of my long sleeved uniform.


	11. Sarcasm

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Sarcasm_

* * *

"But it's not bad. It's still healing. You can barely see that anything happened to you." 

"No."

"But I'm sure-"

"No, I'm-"

"Just remember what I told you. That is all I'm asking of you."

I don't say anything. My anger levels have reached critical mass. Any other words can be left unsaid for if they were to be even whispered then the aftermath would be unbearable, and that isn't what I need right now.

My mother's heel disappears, and the echo of my bedroom door slamming shut behind her makes me jump. I almost fall out of my bed, my bed of twigs and the faded memories of the sun's warmth. When everything is still, when I am assured that I am not going meet the cold floor, I self-consciously push a stray lock of ginger behind my ear. I immediately wonder why; it isn't as if I am around anyone. I don't need to look decent. But, who would look decent in old pajamas?

I turn my head toward the darkest corner of my room, searching for full length mirror. But all I see is the paint on the wall, its ashy style actually beautiful in my eyes. So many pictures could be seen, so many insignificant specs of white in between blobs of shadows. I frown at the realization of my happier counterpart not being there to mock me, to gaze at me vacantly, to be ashamed of me. To reassure me.

I really don't have to remind myself of what I did to make that reflection go away, do I?

I don't know why I looked in the direction of where the mirror once was. I already know what I must look like. Poor. Shabby. Plain. Maybe even ugly. My red hair is muddled from the restless night, from tossing and turning in bed that seems so empty yet crowded at the same time. The white oversized shirt clings to my body, hugging me because it knows that no one else is here to hold me close. My mother already disapproves of it, my nightwear. She says sophisticated women do not sleep in oversized shirts that only cover their body's upper half, while their lower half only resides in underwear.

Every time I think of what she says, I laugh. But I stop, feeling repulsive.

Aware that I have been staring vacantly at the dark corner, I sigh and toss the sheets off my. The tips of the feet touch the carpeted flooring, and I wince, the weight of responsibility and life making themselves known. Another reason why I can never feel as lighthearted as I'd wish to be.

As I step out of my room, I quickly turn my head every which way as if I am crossing the street. There are similarities between my home and they mean streets of the city. Both have reckless people and drivers. Both are isolated except for a spat every now and then, except for a car wreck every minute or so. When I see that none of those are about to slap me in the face, I dart into the restroom and quietly shut the door. It is best not to make my stirring acknowledged.

I ignore my reflection in the mirror as I walk toward the bathtub. The dim shadows that fall across the blue titled restroom are eerie. I remember being a little kid, a mere child of nine or eight, as I lay in bed, terrified of the shadows that formed in my room when the moonshine conquered. I shake my head rapidly, wanting to make the memory dissolve. And when that's accomplished, all I am left with is nothing. My surroundings are always hush, always calm, like a city before an aerial attack.

I want to feel renewed. I want to go back to my room. My mind is a very scary place, I realize. Shadows. Awkward memories of a blurry childhood. So I quickly turn on the hot water, strip of my clothes and step inside the tube. The millions of tiny bullets digging into my skin are relaxing.

* * *

The radio is softly playing in the background as I finish dressing. After an hour shower, my skin is heavy, but my soul is healed. My mind, my body and feelings. My face is clean, radiant, some may say, and my hair is a darker, bloodier auburn than when dry. I do not bother to blow dry it. I need to sit down and think. 

And that I do. But I don't get anywhere. The only thing I think about is how the rolly chair at my desk is much comfier than I remember it being. I think about how my bed is warmer than it used to be, how the uncovered window is great for breathing in fresh air. I grimace. At this rate I won't get anything done. It's Friday. I have approximately two days to consider. I find my way to my bed, for I am not equipped to handle anything new.

Should I go to the mall with Cynthia? My finger tips trace the scar running from the corner of my eye, about an inch away from it, down to my jaw. No matter what anyone says, no matter what Cynthia does, I know she did not do it on accident. Like Matt said, who could unintentionally stab someone with tweezers? It's impossible. Ridiculous, even. I guess she just wants to see me suffer, and she succeeded.

I skipped school this morning because of her, because of imperfection.

I truly despise it when I recall things.

_Fear conquers my body when I anxiously glance in the bathroom mirror. What I see is… unacceptable. I can just picture myself marching down the school corridors like a condemned inmate. The shadows paint a black streak across the other criminal's faces as they stuck their heads out between the prison's bars, but the affect did not apply to their eyes. Their awful, sinisterly staring eyes. _

_My school uniform has always felt like a striped black and white jumpsuit. _

_So I run back to my room and hid under the covers. Mom, being the concerned person that she is, comes in to wake me up. Tossing the covers away from my face, I point a thin, long finger at the side of my face and hope she could see the millions of words behind the simple gesture. But like in the past, she doesn't. _

"_But you are still a beautiful young woman. A cut won't ruin that." _

_I am about to point at my arm, but as my teeth sink into my bottom lip I stop. I won't tell anyone. What's the point? I've stopped. Crisscrosses will fade, someday. Instead, I attack my mother. Verbally. So many tears are shed; so many meaningless words are said. None of them do justice. And Mom isn't fazed. She somehow… understands. She reads me like a book._

_She sits on the edge of my bed. "Where did you get the idea what you're ugly? You're not."_

_I frown as I cross my arms. I can't say. I don't know._

_Mom reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I twitch. The tears will not stop. They drip down my cheeks like a leaky water faucet at night. It's so silent in my room that I can hear the droplets of salt land on the surface of my bed. And, recalling a soft rain, I twitch again. I'm good at hushed pain. _

"_Sora, how many times do I have to tell you? You're my daughter. I love you."_

_I'm stubborn. "I'm not going to school."_

_Mom's obstinate too. It's another thing we have in common. "But it's not bad. It's still healing. You can barely see that anything happened to you." _

"_No."_

"_But I'm sure-"_

"_No, I'm-"_

"_Just remember what I told you. That is all I'm asking of you."_

The radio is still softly playing in the background. I'm sure it's sunny despite the dark colors of my room. I finally notice that the shadows don't _fall _into my room, they _live_ in my room.

But under the covers I'm out of harm's way… I guess.

* * *

"Why are you still here?" 

"I live here."

"Are you sure?"

"Sora-"

"Dad-"

A stack of magazines drop onto the coffee table. Everything stops. Mom puts her hands on her hips. "Will you two stop it?"

A sigh. I lean back in the couch and cross my arms across my chest. Of course, I'm wearing long sleeves yet again. What lies underneath them will remain a secret. What good will the truth bring if the crisscrosses will fade? What good will it do me to have someone else know?

Exactly.

All three of us are in the living room. Three, as in me, my father and Mom. They tricked me into coming out of my room; they said something about being imprisoned in my own room for more than forty eight hours was upsetting. Ever since I didn't come home that one night, my father has been residing in the apartment Mom and I have been sharing for years and years. I haven't asked him yet, but I know he's only staying to keep an eye on me. He doesn't trust me around any male. It angers me, if truth be told. He's butting in on my love life. To add to the story, Mom hasn't kicked him out yet. I don't know whether she's insecure and wants him to protect us like any other head of the household, or if she too doesn't trust me.

The whole thing is really bizarre, to say the least. My father and Mom are… actually getting along. He hasn't bought up the divorce papers, and she has treated him like any hard working husband should be treated. But, he hasn't been to work, and he hasn't done anything _not_ to be yelled at. Mom and my father are... getting along, for lack of a better word and phrase.

I spend a lot of time thinking about this. Why does Mom act the way she does? Why does my father act the way he does? If he wants his freedom so much, why doesn't he force her to sign the papers and get out of our lives? If she hates him so much why doesn't she just sign the papers and kick him out?

Why?

If, if, if.

I'm really sick of it.

"Tai's been calling the house like a mad man."

I raise my head to look at my father. He has a grin on his face, and he looks back at Mom and says, "See, Toshiko? I told you that would get her attention."

He sounds so cheerful, as if nothing has happened these past few months. I feel like slapping him.

"What?" I demand, sitting forward. Any further and I will be on the floor.

"Tai's been calling since yesterday, before you came home," Mom says from the couch, not looking up from reading a magazine. "He called the first time to make sure you were all right; he said he waited for you outside of the girl's locker room but you never came out. Then after you came home, he called a million and five more times and politely asked to speak with you-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out in a horrified sqeak.

"I tried to tell you," Mom says, "but every time I knocked on your door you yelled for me to go away." She finally puts down the magazine and smiles lightly toward me.

"When I answered the phone I told him we sent you to a year-round boarding school," my father mutters, looking through the magazines.

"Dad!" I yell. I suddenly want to pull out my hair from my scalp. "How could you?"

"Haruhiko-" My mother warns, eyeing him.

He's chucking. "Don't worry," he says to both of us. He takes a moment to clear his voice to drawl in a southern accent, "He's a persistent boy, that Tai is."

"That's not funny." My lips are pursed and my eyes are narrowed. "You think you can just pop out of nowhere and act as if you've been less than ten feet away from me my whole life? You think-"

"He's not right for you, Sora," my father speaks softly.

"And how would you know?" I raise my voice. "All you know about him is his first and last name, and maybe what sport he plays or what his sister's name is-"

"I'm only saying this out of experience-"

"Shut up! You can't-"

"You're going to get hurt-"

"No I'm not!"

"-Don't want to see you cry-"

"Then go away!"

"You're my only daughter and I won't stand by and let him do this to you!"

"You don't know him! You're getting this crap straight out of your-"

"Don't finish that sentence."

I gasp as I realize that I'm losing this battle. I huff and look everything except for his eyes. "You're paranoid."

"You're naive."

He wants this bomb inside of me to explode, doesn't he? "Why are you here? You keep on saying that you want me to be happy, but I just can't because you're _here_!"

There's silence. Nothing new. But I look at my father, Dad, and the face I remember being young and vibrant is now haggard and fatigued. He's hurt.

"Sora…" Mom breaks the ice, wretchedness seeping through her disapproving tone. "Please…"

I frown and meekly whisper my apologies. If I wasn't as aware of the world that wasn't the wonderful floor I was staring at, I wouldn't have seen Mom show my father a letter she took out of her pocket, and after he read it, exchange worried glances.

* * *

As I stand by the dressing room, I curse myself for coming to this Sunday thing with Cynthia. We've been walking around for hours, spending a lot of time looking at one article of clothing, and when she's about to say yes to buying it she spots something else. She claims she's looking for the perfect shirt, because she has the perfect pair of jeans. 

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

I'm sick of it.

And, she finally comes out of the dressing stall. She's wearing a shirt she wants to be the perfect one, a shirt I would never wear. She rapidly asks me what I think of it.

"It's beautiful on you," I lie.

"I don't know…," Cynthia murmurs, and tells me why she thinks why it's good, and then why it isn't worthy of her time.

After a long debate with herself, she tosses it aside and we go back into the store and continue to go through thousands upon thousands of clothes. It makes my eyes water, and I'm not sure if I'm dying from anxiety or from all the different colors. But a few seconds later I find out that it's neither of the reasons. I want to collapse and die when Cynthia opens her mouth.

"If I had a boyfriend like Tai I'd absolutely die."

I make a face toward the clothes I am searching through. Somehow, I wish she had a boyfriend like Tai- not Tai, but someone like him, though I doubt anyone can be like him. That way she'd die and the people who fear her and envy her can get on with their lives. Who would be able to fear a carcass without shame? Who could envy something that is nothing but the reflection of what once was? Hmm. I'd go to her funeral, for the sake of torture.

But disgrace slaps me across the face. How can I think such horrible things? Cynthia may be an atrocious person, a beautiful shell though with hollow insides, but no one deserves to die.

"If I had a boyfriend at all-"

What I heard makes me look up at her. Her face is flawless as usual, but now that she has admitted to a flaw- being alone, I can see her makeup melt off her face to reveal her plain portico. But she's known for being herself. She's loved and wanted by being pretty. How can she not have a boyfriend? I stare at her blankly, as if trying to ask her with my eyes exactly what she meant by not having a boyfriend.

Her eyes met my incredulous ones as she sighs, "I don't have a boyfriend." Then her gaze flickers away from mine and she continues to look for the perfect shirt. But I see something. There was a shimmer of sheer ecstasy in her shallow pool of eyes as she revealed her secret. If I was still the naïve ten or twelve year old I was once before, I would not be able to know what that glimmer meant. But since I'm stronger and wiser, I can read her clearly.

She lies.

/11/


	12. Cynthia

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity_  
Cynthia_

* * *

My feet are burning as though I were lazily sauntering on the surface of the sun. Literally. I can't look at the soles of my shoes for fear that I'll see a gaping hole. This march makes tennis practice seem easy, even if we were practicing outside during the middle of winter instead of using the indoor tennis courts. The coach, overall, is crazy. And so is Cynthia.

Since our arrival at the mall, it's been nothing but nonstop talking from Cynthia. I know she must have other friends that she can torture like this. Of course, they will not think of it as torture, because they are like miniature, less arrogant versions of her. It's just that Cynthia and I are opposites, plain and simple. She's very prissy while I am still leaning a bit toward my tomboyish-ness that I have been growing out of these couple of years. I like skirts and cute clothes, but Cynthia's wear, slutty shirts and skin tight jeans, aren't in my wardrobe.

The self proclaimed bitc-

Ahem. Clearing my throat now.

Like I may have said before, Cynthia is looking for the perfect shirt. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but by noticing a very distinct pattern with the other tops she has tried on, I can only assume that she's going with something that shows off skin.

Now that I have nothing to distract me from my aching feet and numbed mind, I watch has as Cynthia holds up another shirt in front of her as if to examine it.

"What do you think, Sora?" she asks me, like she cares what my opinion is.

"It's beautiful," I lie for the millionth time, not caring if my tone of voice is dull.

"Oh, that's what you always say," she points out as she puts the shirt back on the rack. Damn it. That's another lost chance at getting out of here alive and with both feet still attached to my legs. I have never walked this much in my life. I think it's enough to make me burst into tears. Maybe I will. That's what scares me the most.

"You know," my tennis teammate starts softly, for the first time in her life it seems like she is thinking, "I've been so selfish. I invited you to come with me so that we can become friends, and all I've been doing is ignoring you and only looking for things for myself." She pauses to take in my reaction, but I doubt she can read me because she pouts. "I want us to be friends, Sora," she simply says.

What am I supposed to say? I'm not that fond of her, and I know she isn't of me. So where's this crap coming from? Maybe I have interpreted her wrong. Maybe it's my imagination that's just giving me this horrible picture of her. Stereotypes. Rumors. I should have known better.

I part my lips to say something, for the silence that snuggles into the awkward moment is growing too comfortable in its newfound domicile. But I shut my mouth, having nothing to say. What do people do when they realize they've been wrong all along? Why does she want to be friends with me anyway? Do I have to act like the rest of her friends? Shallow and dramatic?

I stand corrected: Cynthia's friendship is what scares me the most.

I visibly grimace.

Uncertainty is awful.

"I want us to be friends, too," someone responds in a raspy voice, and I am confused. That person sounds so much like me.

It _is_ me.

Cynthia's face lightens up as if the wind has blown away the clouds that block the sun. She smiles, orbs alit, and hugs me. I'm lost for a second, choking on the strong scent of her perfume, but before I turn the shades of a rainbow and die, she releases me.

"I'm so glad," she exclaims. I never thought she'd be saying that about being friends with me. It's like her newfound alliance with me has completed her perfect world.

"Let's go eat something," Cynthia suggests. "I'm hungry."

Wordlessly (well, on my behalf), Cynthia and I head toward the food court. My friend, buddy, companion person starts to talk about why she needs this perfect outfit she has had in mind. She says she can't stand imperfect, that she needs everything in her closet to be color coordinated and everything else that crosses her path to be flawless. That explains her hair, the way she talks, the way her clothes are neatly pressed, the way her nails are perfect- just everything.

It makes me wonder why she wants to be friends with me. Me, with my Raggedy Anne type of hair, my crisscrosses and forlorn scars, my weaknesses.

I visibly frown.

"What's wrong?" Cynthia's saccharine voice rips through my thoughts. I look to my side, to her, and I can see that her orbs are reflecting concern. I almost gasp aloud. Is that genuineness I see?

"Sora?"

I blink.

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Sure." I offer a fake grin.

"But you're so pale all of a sudden."

I start walking faster, hoping to either lose her or have her give up on the subject. It's amazing that she is so persistent when we've only been friends for a mere five minutes.

"Must be the lighting," I respond, a bit on the harsh side.

Cynthia settles down and stops asking so many questions. I often wonder what goes through peoples' heads. When they see and hear, what do they feel? I know that when I see scars, I think of infamy and wretchedness, whereas someone else might look at scars and think of achievement and ways to find the paths to entitlement. One might look at a smile and grin themselves, out of the other person's pleasure, and another might look at a smile and see the glass mask about to shatter.

It would be better if the world was hushed.

* * *

I can't really taste the ice cream I am eating. Sure, I know it's good, but my taste buds have gone numb. Maybe they retired. I don't know. Maybe I'm not hungry, but I sure could use the energy. Plus, I know I'll crave ice cream later on, so might as well be ahead of it. 

I'm sitting across Cynthia at the food court. Whereas the world around us is laughing and happily eating their meals, my newfound friend and I are silent, something that I have appear to have grown into. I don't know what to say to her, or how she'll respond. Plus, I really don't want to be here. I love the mall like any other girl, but this is insane.

I brace myself.

"Tell me about yourself," I try to start a conversation as I watch Cynthia bring a small bit of strawberry ice cream to her mouth. She's careful not to smear her lipstick on the spoon

"Well," she begins excitedly, "I have a mom and a dad, and a little brother. He's the cutest thing ever…"

I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Now I can't stand the sight of her. She has the perfect home I never had: a mother and father that get along and still love each other after all these years, and even a younger sibling to take care of; someone to admire her. As if she already didn't have half the girls in the school wanting to be like her, and half the guys wanting to be with her.

I hope Matt isn't one of those guys.

"He loves to play video games," Cynthia runs on about her brother. She laughs a bit. "Sometimes I have to feed him because he's too busy to come to the table."

"How old is he?" I ask just to keep the conversation going.

"He's eight."

"Wow. By the time he's fifteen he's going to have some major cramps in his thumbs, maybe even some bone loss."

"I know!" Cynthia giggles. She slowly scoops up another half spoonful of ice cream before she says, "But when Mom hides the game system from him, he asks me to take him to the park so that he can play with some friends. It's so cute. They're so short and young. Whenever I watch them play tag, I wish I could be that young again."

I am quiet as I let her words sink in. The more I think about what she said, the more in realize that I feel the same way. I miss being nine years old and not caring what I look like, what I'm going to do tomorrow or what career I'm going into. The pressure really is mounting.

It's Cynthia's turn to ask a question, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No," I sigh. "And it gets lonely sometimes."

But I don't tell her the rest, that I bring the loneliness upon myself. I don't tell her that I lock myself in my room and don't come out until I have no other choice but to do so. What difference would it make if I had another person in the apartment? Mom and my father have already almost settled the divorce, I suppose. Isn't that why he's staying in the apartment? Oh, no wait, I forgot- he's only there because he doesn't trust me.

"You can always borrow my brother, you know," Cynthia offers, smiling.

I force a laugh. "No thanks."

When she stands up so that we can continue to shop, I follow her lead and toss the empty plastic container in the trash can. The ice cream was just choked down. I don't even remember what flavor it was. But I always go with something simple, so it must have been vanilla. I think. Or was it strawberry, like the flavor Cynthia chose? Probably not. Maybe chocolate…

By now the mall is crowded. Cynthia and I had met at the main entrance at eight o'clock in the morning. Yeah, that's right, at eight! Cynthia had said she wanted to get an early start. Now I'm agitated. I got up that early for no reason. We now have to almost push people out of our way to get through. For me, this is a difficult task, but I suppose Cynthia is used to doing it.

What's wrong with me? Friends aren't supposed to think negatively about each other. I guess I have to give this acquaintance time. Or prove myself wrong about Cynthia being a whore. Either way, the wait-and-see part of both plans is agonizing.

I have to look up because if I look at my feet, I will surely run into someone or something. Usually, I can't look others in the eyes. It sends a shiver up and down my spine, or I worry for a reason I can't explain.

Right when I was about to look back down, something caught my eye. Something stunning. I had found Cerulean once again. In black, of course, but nonetheless there. Here. Matt Ishida. He's near the wishing fountain, watching the maroon haired drummer from his band toss a penny into the water. Of course, the band members are cracking jokes, but the drummer sticks out his tongue and I'm sure I can hear him say, "Just so you know, I wished you guys weren't such idiots." And the keyboard player and electric guitarist laugh, while Matt coolly replies, "Look who's talking."

His voice is a fine companion to his bass guitar. Both are soothing and in sync with chaotic backgrounds. Matt's blonde hair is popping out amongst the dark haired crowd, perfect in every way. I can't see his face for his back is to me, and I feverishly wish he would turn around so that I can get a glimpse of Cerulean.

A soft grin spreads over my face. Before I always thought that if my skin stretched to form a grin, I would break and no one would pick up my pieces and try to put me back together. But Matt's presence is… ethereal. I find myself walking towards him, hands shaking and heart pounding for some reason. Right when I'm about to part my lips to say something and get his attention, a yank at my elbow stops me. I watch wordlessly as someone pulls into some store, but my auburn orbs never leave Matt until even his blond hair isn't visible.

I breathe out once inside this store, which I notice happens to be another clothing department. Great, just what I need to see – more shirts and pants. I realize that I haven't taken steady breaths of air since I gazed upon Matt and that was the reason why my head ached. A feeling of sadness creeps over me as I realize that Matt didn't notice me. I didn't even get a glance of cerulean orbs, or get to see a vast grin. I frown, hands shaking beside me.

Cynthia is snapping her fingers in front of my eyes. I shake my head, erasing Matt from my mind, but it's hard.

"Huh?" is all I can manage.

"I can't believe you were actually going to say 'hi' to that imbecile," she's saying, disapproval in her usually sugar coated voice. Seeing that she has gained my attention, she stops snapping her fingers and uses that hand to flip her long slick hair.

"What?" I ask softly. I'm a little bit confused, if truth be told.

"Matt Ishida," Cynthia says, "is so shallow. I can't believe he has groupies and fangirls. He's so fake. I doubt he's punk. His band sucks, and he can't sing. He's not even hot-"

"What?" I demand, but this time my voice rising with disbelief. "Matt's not shallow! In fact, he's the sweetest person I know. He cares a lot about his friends and family even though he doesn't show it. He's more talented than anyone you'll ever date. And, he's unbelievingly good looki-"

I stop talking, seeing the smirk that glazes Cynthia's face. She decides to finish the sentence for me. "Good looking?" she offers. "Handsome?"

My face literally feels like it melted off my face and flopped to the ground.

"Which one?" my tennis teammate insists. "Pick one. Handsome or good looking?"

_Good going, Sora,_ I think. How could I have cornered myself into something this frustrating? I should have known she was going to take my words and throw them back in my face. But then again, what am I worrying about? I said nothing wrong. I have nothing to hide. Only, unlike anytime before, I have actually learned from my mistakes. So I shoot a question back at her.

"What's the difference between the two words?"

She isn't fazed. "So it's both adjectives?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because-" she says, and she stops. I can see her orbs telling me the rest, but the words are written in small text and I can't decipher them. I'm agitated.

"You're a bitch, Cynthia," I spit.

I clench my mouth shut. I can't believe I said that. I brace myself for her attack.

She huffs. Disgusted at the very sight of me, it seems. Instead of raising her hand to slap me again, she opens her pretty mouth to protest, "My friend said that she saw Matt with three packs of cigarettes and a lighter…"

But I stop listening to her. I wonder why I feared her fury. It's not like she has not hurt me before. By accident or not, I may never know, but I do know that there will always be a scar there to remind me of her. Now my mind focuses on a tall young man with eyes of cold, longing cerulean. I feel so strange when I'm around him. He's only four or five months older than I am, but he's so much wiser. He's secure with himself, and to the touch he's so unbelievingly soothing, like abstracting sauntering under the pale moon. The world is nothing but shadows around me, but I'm eccentrically warm and I don't mind the obscurity. A soft wind the only company I have.

Matt Ishida isn't anything like she described him to be.

Though tuning Cynthia out has been difficult before, it's not now. I refuse to listen to the lies others have made up or the rumors she is about to start. I refuse to believe, end of discussion.


	13. Falling

Author's notes: I wrote this chapter whilst listening to Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_, so please try to listen to it when you read this chapter.

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity_  
Falling_

* * *

I'm sitting sideways on his lap, resting my head on his chest while he strokes my auburn hair with his fingers and kisses my forehead. His free arm is securely wrapped around my waist, while my hands are tugging on my long sleeves, wanting them to be pulled down further. Though in his possession, I feel insecure. The warmth is slowly fading away. Hopefully the blanket around us will retain some heat. The couch has never been softer. The evening has never been darker. I'm comfortable enough to close my eyes and begin to drift off to sleep, his rhythmically beating heart my lullaby.

Oh, how time flies when life is almost perfect.

It's been at least three weeks since my shopping incident with Cynthia.

It's been two weeks, five days and seven hours weeks since I've last seen Matt Ishida.

It's been thirteen hours and five minutes since the last fight with my father.

It's been two seconds since Tai Kamiya has kissed my forehead.

Half asleep, I grin joyously, and he laughs quietly but doesn't kiss me again. I hug him tighter, rest my cheek on his shoulder and close my eyes. I remember the last time I was in Tai's living room all those weeks ago. It had just been the beginning. I was single, Tai was just a dream, and Kari was a giggling spectator. But this time it's different.

A surge of energy passes through me.

I can feel myself healing. I think.

Tai's apartment has never been so quiet. His sister is at a friend's house; his parents are out of town. After they had left early in the morning, we skipped school and spent the whole day on the couch, cuddling, laughing, and kissing. Kari hadn't come home to get her things because she had taken them to school with her and went to her friend's house when the day was over. Whenever Tai's parents called to check up on him he answered and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

I really shouldn't have skipped school. But I did.

The morning was horrible. My father is to blame. I will not go into details.

But now it is perfect.

It's night. The blinds of the sliding glass doors aren't closed, and the moonlight seeps through the cracks. The carpet reminds me of a jail cell. The white light is the spaces in between the black bars, and the bars are the part where the darkness is safe from the light. We're in the corner of the jail cell covered by a warm blanket, the shadows embracing us.

"Sora."

It is perfect.

Until now. It's beginning to break. This is beginning to dissolve. I can sense it like someone has been twisting my arm and my bones are about to snap, like the threads holding up a spider web are about to give away, like a ship about to sink. But I'm still dreaming. I can see blue skies, faint light and ethereal clouds swirling silently in the atmosphere.

"Hmm?" I purr.

"Olivejuice," he whispers.

"What?"

"Olive… juice," he breaths softly, dreamily. He's hushed, like he's waiting for me to say something. He's fearful. I can feel it. What does that mean? What am I supposed to say? But the more I run the phrase in my head over and over again the more I understand it.

_Olive juice. _

_Olive juice._

_Olive juice._

No, it wasn't that. He didn't say that.

_Olive Juice._

Oh…

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Oh.

_I love you._

Oh.

My heart swells… but somehow, I can't say it back. My lips are chapped, my mouth is dry.

Time ticks away, unease settles.

We are still together.

My eyes are still closed, providing pitch darkness.

He gulps down pain, I can hear his heartbeat slow, and his grip around me is loosening.

We're falling apart.

I stop dreaming.

Anxious, I open my eyes to see my palms. I blink, seeing shards of glass, but then everything is gone. Everything. My heart stops, so I raise a fisted hand to my chest, trying to feel for a beat. Nothing. Now screaming is futile. Tears will freeze as they drip. Fear feeds hungry demons. The darkness swallows us whole.

* * *

_Don't worry. I'll always be there for you._

The creak of the swings is taken away by the harsh wind. It's been very windy lately. A change of weather, a change of feelings, I think. Nothing has been the same, and it's because I can't speak my feelings.

Tai Kamiya is on the swing besides me, lazily rocking back and forth. Unlike the last visits to the swings, his head is down, like he suddenly finds the floor interesting. I always thought of him as the guy who had too much strength. Maybe since the light has died, he sees no point in looking for it.

The faded colors of the playground are melting. Before their edges were clear, but now they're losing their firmness and are in the process of dissolving. And so is Tai. He has these horrible purple bags under his eyes that tell me he hasn't been sleeping very much lately. His stamina is low. He's quieter than usual. When he holds me, it's like he's not there, it's like half of him is there and the other half is who knows where. When I look into his chocolate eyes, I see the same question that's pestering him for an answer: _why doesn't she love me?_ I do love you, Tai. I just can't say it.

_I can't wait for the sun to rise tomorrow… because I'll get to see you first thing._

"Sora?"

"Hmm?"

He extends a hand and holds it out for me. It's shaking, unstable. If I take it, he might take me down with him. But I look into his eyes, and they, too, tremble. That's not the only thing I noticed. For the first time in days, Tai Kamiya is actually looking directly at me. He hasn't even glanced at me since that day. I think he's looking at me in a new light. I was afraid of this, of the day when he would see me for who I really am. A lost, confused, distressing, hideous girl with hair of blazes.

_Hold on to me when you feel like you're breaking._

"Just hold on to me, okay?"

I take his hand. Like last time, I wait to sense what he feels, but the worst feeling of insecurity overcomes me. I shudder. Is this what he feels, or am I imagining it?

"Promise not to let go?" he asks. The question isn't what it means, but I understand completely.

"Promise."

"Promise not to give up?"

"Promise."

The pressure is building. I'm breaking. I clutch his hand tighter.

His silence kills me. Wait - am I the one destroying him? During all the years that I've known him, he's never been this quiet. Never. Ever since the incident that day we skipped school… I wince. I can feel him slipping through my fingers. I can see this beautiful thing we have being snipped at with scissors. He knows it, he can see it. I wonder if he sees me as the person who is choosing to cut this into little insignificant pieces. Does he think I'm just using him? Can I ask these questions? I choose the safest way to ask.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he sighs.

I mouth the single word. My grip tightens around the chains that hold up the swing, the same ones that hold me up, as I recall a prior conversation.

_Nothing is everything. _

* * *

_Everything is nothing._

It's driving me insane. Why is it that kind words are always thrown back at me?

A week has passed, and I'm deranged.

It's cold. I cling onto my jacket and push a stray lock of ginger behind my ear. My cheeks are red after taking a beating from the harsh wind. The cars are passing by, totally oblivious to what I'm going through. After all, why should they care? No one does. I don't think _I even_ care. At least, not anymore.

"We need to talk, Sora," Tai Kamiya says to me. After being called up on the phone, meeting him at the corner where our two blocks meet, I'm sure it's important; otherwise he would have told me over the phone. Right? It's obvious.

Chocolate eyes drown in pain, chocolate eyes tremble. He looks really handsome in his long blue coat, and I curse myself for concentrating on that and not what's really going on. I know what the words _'We need to talk'_ mean. I can't - won't - let that happen. I know Tai Kamiya; I know what he's been, what he is now and what he will be in the future. And I know that when he has decided to do something, he will not listen to anything or anybody. Not even I will be able to prevent anything from changing even though I am in this too. After all, I was the one who made him believe I was uninterested in him. Honestly, I didn't know the words _I love you _or _olive juice _meant so much to him…

What am I thinking? Of course they mean a lot to him. They would mean a lot to anyone.

"I think we should stop this," he continues.

My breathing is shaky. I knew this was going to happen. But I can't move my mouth to protest, I can't say anything to make things better. How can I stop the greatest thing in my life from being executed without words?

"You don't seem to be taking this as seriously as I am." He's quieter, aching. "I love you."

A pause. He hesitates.

_You know I'd do anything for you._

Maybe I can redeem myself by saying it now. I open my mouth to say it, but can't. I want to slap myself. Ugh. I can't even do that right, either. _Just say it, Sora,_ I chide myself. _Olive juice!__I love you!_

Nothing.

I heard somewhere before that if one word can mean a thousand, no words can mean at least five. So why can't those words be 'olive juice' or 'I love you'? Why can't Tai hear the words in the wind, why can't he see them embedded in my eyes? Why?

"And- and I don't want you to hold down since you don't lo-," he pauses to swallow glass. "I mean, if you don't feel the same way about me…"

I'm frozen, wide eyed. Is this really happening? Am I still asleep?

"Just follow your heart, Sora. Okay? I'll… see you around."

He stares at me for a moment, and I'm hopeful that he has noticed the neon signs in my auburn eyes, and that he knows that I love him too… but he managed a fake smile and turns around, heading home, I suppose. I begin to think that this is just a prank. He's going to go right around the block and surprise me, come back to me. But what if it isn't, what if he doesn't?

"O-ol-ive ju-juice. I-I lo-love y-you," I rasp, but it's too late. The wind carries away the roughly formed words that trickle out of my mouth like blood. They won't ever reach him. In fact I think I might have chocked up dust, not words.

It's over… just like that? The support his presence brings to me washes over me one last time, and then it dies. Forever.

_Sora._

_What's wrong?_

_You know I'd do anything for you._

_Sora._

_Nothing is everything, everything is nothing._

_Sora._

_I can't wait for the sun to rise… you'll be the first thing I see._

_Sora._

_I love you._

_Sora._

_Hold on to me when you feel like breaking._

_Sora. _

_We need to talk._

_Sora._

_I love you._

His voice is ringing in my head. He won't stop saying my name!

_Sora?_

I'm going insane.

Someone help me. Please.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, idly standing and watching him slowly walk away from the corner of my eye. I wish I could walk away. But I can't. I don't. I find myself memorizing the feeling his presence gave me, our moments at the swings, what it feels like to be kissed in case I never see him again. I bite my lower lip. It takes everything within me not to run after him and plead, shamelessly cry. I look down at my feet. Forcing my eyes shut so as not to let the tears drip, I shiver in pain. But I convince myself otherwise. This is a dream, so I'm not in pain. It's just cold. So cold… even long sleeves will not help this time.


	14. Abstract

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity_  
Chapter fourteen: abstract  
_

* * *

As the front door closes behind me I know nothing will ever be the same. A sound resembling gunfire startles me and lets reality seep through my daze of stupor. Standing numbly in the hallway, I breathe slowly, as if for the first time. Again, I begin trying to figure out what happened in the last few weeks and minutes. Everything is so blurry. My eyes are burning.

When you hear gunfire, most likely an army is nearby. But in this case it's a lone soldier on a mission to save his daughter from dangers that don't exist.

This seems so familiar, like it already happened before. And it did. I was with Tai at the time. But I stop thinking about it and concentrate on what's coming, what my father is going to say. Whoa. Déjà vu. I brace myself for another screaming match with him; however, I will let him win in the end. There's nothing to fight for anymore.

"Where have you been?" he demands, on the brink of hysteria. "You're always going to places without telling me or your mother. You can't leave and not tell us, Sora! And you never gave an explanation as to why you didn't home from school that one day a week ago-"

"I never went to school," I interrupt. As the last word rolls off my tongue I cringe. Someone, please slap some sense into me. Why would I go ahead and say that? Despite fear, I look right at my father's haggard face and wait for his complexion to redden. Surprisingly, it doesn't. Instead he raises a hand up to his face to rub his eyes.

"Where were you then?" his voice came out calmly.

"At Tai's apartment." I swallow the acid that came along the broken memories.

"His parents didn't mind you two missing school?"

"They weren't home. I think they were out of town."

"So two teenagers were alone in an apartment for more than eight hours?"

"It was more like fifteen or so."

He sighs deeply and heads another direction. "Why are you answering my questions so indifferently?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

My father stares at me, dark eyes searching for an answer that I can't give him verbally. It is easy enough for him. He reads the thoughts behind my auburn eyes like a book, like a diary that is supposed to be kept secret. I wonder how much he's read.

"Why are your eyes puffy and red?" he asks, concern glazing his face. "Are you alright?"

I sniffle. "Sure."

"Are you certain?"

For a minute it seems like he's the father I remember when I was five. The father that was always there and made me smile when I was down or tickled me just to hear me laugh. Oh, the wonderful faded memories…

"It doesn't hurt," I tell him, but I can't help but think that I'm just saying those words to reassure myself.

* * *

_Ring. Ring._

This is the fourth time in less than half an hour that the phone has rang, but no one has bothered to answer it. I think Mom is grocery shopping with my father. I can't exactly picture them together as a couple. Anyway, they aren't home, and I keep telling myself that if I do not answer the phone maybe the person on the other end will stop trying. It's probably telemarketers anyway. But what if… what if it is Tai?

Suddenly, I spring for the phone on my desk, almost falling flat on my face. As my fingers curl around the headset, the phone falls to the ground, and for what seems like forever, the ringing stops. Oh, no. What if that was my last chance at getting back together with Tai?

_Ring. Ring. _

I sigh deeply and close my eyes in relief. I reach down and retrieve the black headset. Pressing the orange button that says _talk_, I raise the phone to my ear and I clear my throat before trying to nonchalantly greet, "Hello, Takenouchi residence, Sora speaking."

"Sora," the voice on the other line exclaims, "are you okay? I haven't seen you in days. Whenever I try to get your attention in the halls at school, you only keep walking away. Are you mad at me? Are you upset?"

Why do I always keep my hopes up? I should have known it wouldn't be him. Most likely, he'll never talk to me again.

"Hello? Are you there?" the person on the other end asked. Amazing. Cynthia is actually concerned for someone else besides herself. I shake my head clear of thoughts.

"Sure," I say, but my voice comes out scratchy.

"I heard about your breakup with Tai," she starts casually. My face softens at the thought, at the reminder, but then I imagine her glossed lips curve into a smirk and a newfound fury conquers over dejection.

She's still talking, "How long as it been?"

"Huh?"

"How long has it been since you two broke up?"

"Um… about two weeks." I don't tell her that I spent days moping around and lost track of time.

"Oh, you poor thing," she coos.

"It's alright. It doesn't hurt anymore." Am I lying?

"If I lost a great guy like Tai Kamiya," Cynthia puts in, "I would absolutely die. Really. I'd crawl under the covers and cry and cry until I just stopped breathing…," she trails, and starts off strongly again.

However, I stop listening. Eyeing my top drawer of my desk, I'm temped to open it and take out what I haven't seen in weeks. Out of the blue I yearn to see my reflection upon silver.

"-and the worst part is, he's falling apart without you."

This grabs my attention.

"What?" I demand.

"You mean you haven't noticed?"

I feel guilty.

Cynthia takes my silence as an answer, and the correct one at that. "Well Tai hasn't really been concentrating in class, and I think Adeel told me that ever since you and Tai broke it off he was skipping or 'forgetting' to go to soccer practice."

I listen intently to what she says though her voice rings loudly in my ear. When she's done and moves on to the next subject, I hang up on her. In just one efficient and swift movement, she's gone. To prevent from hearing from her again, I unplug the telephone cord from the wall.

I sit on my bed facing my desk. It's too early to be tired. I lose track of time as I repetitively sigh and close my eyes for a minute or two. I try to think, really I do, but it's just so damn hard. Feeling so useless has never been an abnormal feeling for me, but this time it's too much. I can't take it anymore. The bricks being thrown at me are too heavy.

And before I know it, I see my reflection in a knife.

The blade shakes as it lingers over my wrist. Stalling now. I think. Someone is vaguely telling me that this is wrong, but that voice fades away and it leaves me with pessimism. And so the blade dives once, and then twice, and then thrice. And again. And again. A pause. My lips twitch when I feel the familiar crimson that drools out of my flesh. Tears come to my eyes as I realize they taste just like blood. Nothing is more frustrating than feeling the presence of things that used to bring tranquility. But someday everything will die away, after all. Someday I'll be blind, numbed. But right now it does hurt.

* * *

"Wine, Toshiko?" 

"No thank you."

And it's still again.

My parents have been acting very strange lately. They're actually having civilized conversations like normal people. Normal, defined as "average", "custom" and "regular" in almost every dictionary. The thought of them fitting that description is too out of the ordinary. I still shake my head at it.

I glance at the both of them while we are yet again enjoying another meal that Mom took the time to make. Sometimes I fear for my safety when I find that I am seated between them even though they are on either end of the table. But I always realize that there's no way Mom would throw the good china at him if he said something incredibly pigheaded, and he would never dare lay a finger on her.

And thus my crazy thoughts of violence in the family are ceased.

Since I no longer am preoccupied with hopes and dreams, I begin to notice things around the house. Small things. My father has unpacked. It looks like it could take a while for him to leave. Mom has been wearing sweaters and has been quiet these past few weeks. Too quiet. A reflection of worry has taken the place of optimism in her eyes.

And me? Have I changed, too? No, I haven't changed- I've become less of what I was. And somehow I'm not afraid to admit that.

"Dad, why haven't you been to work?" I ask, breaking so many things in doing so. I try to make the question sound like I truly am curious instead of hinting for him to take leave. At the same time I decide that I am not hungry anymore. I wipe the corner of my mouth with a napkin and wait for his reply.

His answer is clean and simple, "I'm on vacation."

"It's a very long one."

"Yes," he agrees, nodding, "it is."

I look at Mom. "May I be excused?"

She nods as though speaking would crush her. She's worried again. I can sense it. With her fork, she picks at her food. But I think nothing of it as I try to get up but am restrained by my father who quietly asks me to stay for a minute. He looks me in the eyes, melancholy in his own, and says something any five year old princess lives to hear:

"My daughter, I know I might not show it, but I am proud of you. My daughter, my only daughter, I love you."

But I am not five anymore.

"Please forgive me for not being there for you and your mother."

And now 'sorry' isn't good enough.

* * *

Being the perceptive girl that I am, I really don't take notes in any of my classes at school. My notebook has clean lines whereas the boy sitting next to me has cluttered scribbles upon scribbles of notes and pictures to help him understand things better. I, on the other hand, have dreams and goals written in my journal. All of which have been crossed out one by one as the sun and moon took their turns in the sky. Now the only thing I can do is sit at my desk and wonder of things that have long since not passed anyone's mind. 

But yet my fingers still play with the notebook, gently tracing the edges. Knowing I shouldn't write down anything else, having the responsibility and burden of listening to the teacher's lecture, I flip open the journal's cover and I am greeted by the site of a typical clean page. I tear it out and set the notebook aside. Maybe if I kiss this paper, rip it into bits and pieces and toss it into the wind for it to take away, I will be at peace. I search for my pencil and begin to write down why.

Why couldn't I say it?

I spend forever on this question.

On the whole, I give up and move on to the others.

Why can't Tai and I be together? Why do I think, that after weeks of hurting and yearning, that he is better off without me?

1. He is strong, I am not.

2. He is gorgeous, I am not.

3. He loves me, I do not. I don't mean that the wrong way. I love him; I just don't love myself. Can he understand that?

4. He is alive, I am not.

My hand is shaking again. Against my will, my fingers loosen their grip on the pencil until it falls and lands with a painful strike on the desk. Only, it didn't do any harm. Before, it might have been a vast awakening to the silence, but since there is no stillness to break there is no damage done.

I see the smiling faces of my classmates around me. Apparently, the class clown has said something funny but not worthy of repetition and he has the class, even the teacher, laughing. Except for one. Make that two, as I look to my right and see Tai numbly sitting in his desk, his expression grim. There isn't even a hint of contentment among his bronzed features. Usually he'd add to a joke, but today it's like he's not the same person.

My head twirls when I see him turn in my general direction. Bare, I bite my lower lip.

Please smile, please laugh, Tai. If not for me, then do it for yourself. Please don't give up. I can do that on my own. Guilty, I look down at the paper that waits to be filled in with reasons why things won't work and slowly I pick it up just to crumble it into a ball. I steal a glance at my chocolate memory across the room once again, maybe for the last time.

Please don't die, Tai Kamiya.

* * *

I awake in a cold sweat, scared and not breathing. My vision is blurry, my mouth is dry and I need the light. My surroundings are dark as usual, but never have I awakened in such a deep twilight to become aware of it. A change in volume is the only thing I notice. There's a pound, a thump, a beat. My hand comes up to my chest, anxious to feel the thump of something that either disintegrated a long time ago or was never there to begin with. 

Do I live?

Patiently I wait for an answer.

I frown. The answer is always a 'no'.

I realize someone is pounding on my door. Groaning out of aggravation, I climb out of bed and drag myself toward the door. The strain on my wrists is terrible. A little more intensity and my veins will pop out of the cracks on my flesh. Disappointingly, and to my surprise, they don't. Moving through this impossibly dead atmosphere is hard enough. Painstakingly, I stand on my own two feet, as if for the first time in years, when I reach the door.

Gradually, I turn the doorknob.

Abruptly, the door swings open.

My father, worn-down but nevertheless strong, stands tall in the doorway, dim lights illuminating his frame. He has the most disapproving scowl embedded on his face that I have ever seen. In his hand lies something which he pushes right in my face, and when my ears unclog themselves from flying at outrageous speeds through the horrible nightmare that awoke me, I see more than I can hear.

"-what's this, Sora?" my father is demanding. It seems like the empathy that he had been showing earlier has been wiped out of his system. "I knew I should have been watching you every second. A girl your age can't defend herself against the world. I knew that relationship with Tai was destructive, but I didn't know it was this serious! Please, Sora, no more lies. What's happening?"

He's said so many things. Too many. And at the rate I've been functioning these past weeks, it takes a while for my brain to process what I have just heard. What is he talking about? I do know, though, that my relationship with Tai Kamiya is over and that it was not destructive. The earth takes hits to the surface and with time those holes fill up, I finally comprehend. But I can't understand another word my father spoke.

"Huh?" I am confused, probably sleepily. Yes, that's it. The insomnia is taking a toll.

"Do you know what this is?" my father asks quietly, now patient. I begin to think he is bipolar.

I stare at him vacantly in response.

"It's…," he pauses to pick different words, "Be honest. Are you expectant?"

My jaw practically hits the floor. "What? That's insane! I'm too young! Besides, I haven't even-"

Distantly, I hear someone's faint footsteps coming down the hallway and nearing my room. My father glances over his shoulder, and I lean a bit to the left to peer around him. Mom, with her unusually messy hair, wide bright eyes and calm presence stands there, both hands gently lying on her somewhat flat abdomen.

"Haruhiko," Mom casually says from the behind him, "Sora is telling the truth. That pregnancy test that reads positive… it's mine. I'm pregnant."

My father goes silent. Through my stupor and astonishment, I become conscious that, finally, finally, it doesn't hurt anymore. I am numb.


	15. Matt

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Matt_

* * *

Matt Ishida is a remarkably good kisser. Awesome. Excellent. Divine. Breathtaking.

It starts when the sky darkens and cries, as does my heart. It starts when he sees me from across the busy street and makes his way over like a seraph.

I am shaking, as always, and he wraps an arm around my waist, softly pulling me in, but not too close. He asks me what's wrong, but never receiving an answer. With warmth being so near, I try to indulge myself in him. I stick to him like paste. Nothing is more addicting than his forlorn scent or his way of softly telling me not to cry. The tone of his voice itself is enough to put me to sleep- it's a deep mellow tone, like a profound cut. And for life of me I don't know where he is leading me- I only know I want to go wherever he takes me, wherever he goes.

It is the first time I ever wanted to go home. That's where Matt Ishida has led me- to my home, to my heart. He's led me to the door that I have slammed so many times, the door that holds the numbness of the house. Maybe something has changed since this morning, because I no longer fear turning the door knob and letting the door swing open. For a minute afterwards he's quiet beside me, fulfilling his promise by not leaving until he's sure I'm safely inside. But I don't want him to leave, but I don't want to stay out in the grey world either. Needing the ache of yearning in my heart to be cured, I gently grab him by the collar, taking him into the house with me, shutting the door so that he won't leave. Ever.

"What?" Matt asks, his voice always low as if speaking louder would break him. "Sora, I'm sorry. I can't come in-" Seeing the dim light make his heartrending orbs glisten only makes me want him more. I hold on to his collar until my knuckles are a ghastly pale white. Since he is a bit taller than me, I have to stand on my tip toes to be able to suffocate him with butterfly kisses on his cheeks, to caress his hair with my finger tips. His golden hair is like silk, the sensation of our bodies drawing nearer and nearer is compulsive. I move from his hair to his shirt, admiring the button down shirt he has on.

I am growing red, but not by embarrassment.

And I kiss him. On the lips. Not a shy kiss, no, not at all. The part I can't believe is that he's kissing me back. Passionately. I shiver in delight as his hands touch me. He holds me by my shoulders, and slowly, carefully, he lets his hands run down my back, as if savoring each and every second I am in his possession. I, too, want to remember this. I need to feel more of him. I need. I want. I shiver again as he unhurriedly makes his way up my back again and strokes my neck with his fingertips. I need. I want. I work a few buttons of his shirt loose, but he lays his hands on mine and stops kissing me. At the brink of tears I gaze at him, seeing him shaking his head. But his orbs- his stunning cerulean eyes- tell me otherwise. Overtaken by aspiration, I tip toe, completely leaning on him, and whisper, "Don't leave me..."

"I won't," he whispers back.

"Protect me," I plead vulnerably.

He nods. "I will."

"Take me to your place."

"I will."

And I collapse into his arms as he swings me up into his arms, secure hands on my back and my legs. Almost like the way someone would hold a defenseless baby. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bury my face into the curve of his neck, holding on desperately as though letting go would be like losing faith. I feel us moving, turning corners and stopping every once in a while to cross a street.

I almost fall sleep to the rhythm of the city: cars passing by us, the sound of footsteps on the pavement, the feel of the soft atmosphere around me, how warm Matt is, how the grey sky doesn't make me spin into a total oblivion.

Before I know it Matt is searching for his keys- we're at his home. Where he comes to be by himself, where he lives in peace and dread, where he collapses and drifts off to sleep. Standing outside of his door (or, rather, being held) I stare dry eyed at his facade. Cerulean orbs have been so foggy, concentrating on opening the door and not letting me fall. I know I should help, but I don't. I can't.

Somehow we get inside. Somehow my lips find his again and I feel butterflies in my stomach. By strange means I feel empowered. Alive. For the first time in my life I can feel the tips of my fingers or know what it means to be breathless. I actually feel like me- Sora Takenouchi. I feel like that beautiful girl I saw in the full length view mirror that used to be in the darkest corner of my room.

My feet touch the floor, hands instantly all over him. He is just so addicting. From afar he seems to be wishing death upon you, but as you get nearer he's searing, only it's not enough. I need. I want. He completes me. Again, I fumble with undoing a few buttons on his shirt, just wanting more of the fervor. Much more.

I encourage him to feel me, too. I want him to know me, to know what I am, who I am, what makes me whole and what I am missing.

Caresses. I wish they will never stop. I love the touch of his hands, each stroke making my skin tingle. And I adore how he feels. He's like laundry straight out of the dryer. He's strong despite his appearance- not ridiculously muscular, but not scrawny. Perfect. Like his hair, like his eyes, like his scent, like his presence, like chocolate, like pain, like rapture.

My sweater drops to the floor, leaving me shivering with want in my short sleeves.

But then that stops too.

Cerulean is suffocating in worry.

Fingertips trace the imprinted crisscrosses on my forearms.

He's tracing them to see if they are real, as though they were just drawn on with magic marker. And I'm scared. They _are_ real. I can't see his feeling anymore. That blanket has covered his blue pools of feelings again. He looks at me, giving me a questioning stare. I am frozen. I don't know what to say.

Time ticks by.

Suddenly, he quietly brings my forearm to his mouth and he gently lays butterfly kisses on the scars.

"I'm sorry," I say, tears at bay. I realize what I've been doing to myself. And not just to myself- but to everyone around me who cares for me. And the acid tears do fall, slowly burning my cheeks.

"Why?" he asks, still stroking the scars. He's not asking me why I'm sorry. He's just asking why.

"Because… because I need it."

"But you don't."

"Yes I do…"

"No," he reassures. He's shaking his head.

I kiss him on the lips.

"You can live without it."

And again.

"You're strong."

And again.

"You're lovely."

And again.

"You're beautiful."

And he kisses me. Passionately. Hungrily. The inside of his mouth is delicious. With his thumbs he wipes away my tears; hopefully new ones won't form. I grab the back of his head and push him towards me, fingers entangled in his golden hair. The heat dies down, though, as he stops, breathless.

"Why were you out there in _this_ type of weather?" he asks me. "You were so lost and confused when I saw you. Like someone had blinded folded you, led you out to the big city and just let you go so that you could find your way back home."

I shake my head slowly. "I was going home, actually. My mom was at the hospital-"

"Is she alright?"

"Yeah. Nothing's wrong with her. Anyway, I was at the hospital with my mom 'cause she told us she was pregnant three weeks ago. My dad had to be certain because she only used a home pregnancy test and he knew those can be inaccurate sometimes. So… we found out she isn't."

He is quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"You wanted a younger sibling."

It is statement, not a question.

I nod silently.

"You thought this baby would stop the divorce from happening." He's emotionless.

I hold on to him tighter and squeeze my eyes shut, nodding into his chest. His grip on me strengthens as well and I know he's not completely here. Matt Ishida is here, not Yamato. I need- no, want - Ishida Yamato.

"How did you know about it?" I ask. "I never told you."

"I saw it in your eyes," he simply says. "I saw it in the way you changed."

I'm wordless.

He says something.

"This divorce won't affect you as much. You're almost grown up. Pretty soon you'll be able to move out and never look back."

"But I need a family. A need a mother and a father," I sob.

"The father you've never had?"

With the little strength I have left I lift my head and look into his eyes. I know he's right. Sniffling, I shake my head a bit to make the pain disappear.

"You've never had a father, and you don't need one. You've always had a mother. You always will."

I am amazed at how he can say this vacantly. He hasn't lived with his mother in over years, and I doubt he's said more than four sentences to her after his parents' divorce. His father on the other hand, has set a fine example for him. Though he might not be home all the time, at least he has supplied Matt with everything he'd ever need: food, water, a roof over his head, clothes, music, and an easy life. I have no idea how Matt can say words that are so opposite to his own, but then again he has said a lot of things. Unbelievable things, hurtful things, beautiful things.

Small things that are almost worth nothing.

"You'll always have me," he whispers. If I was two feet away from him I doubt I'd hear him- that's how close we are.

I'm silently thankful for him. He always seems to be there when something dire has happened. When Cynthia scratched me with those tweezers, he was there to witness me heal. He was there blankly staring but analyzing. And just know when I was lost in a crowd, he found me and tried to help. Tried to make my heart beat again. He was just too uncortable. Nervous, maybe. I know I can lean on him. I know that if I fall he'll be there to catch me. I am certain about something for the first time in my life and that feeling is great. No more stabs in the dark. No more guesses and last minute decisions.

"I have a confession to make, too," he says, softer than ever.

I wait.

He comes out with it, "I'd give anything to be with you."

And it dawns on me. Just like that. I guess I really am blind because I couldn't see it before. So that's why he was always there. He'd give anything to be with me. A feeling conquers every bit of me. For a moment I can't think nor see. Fear. I'm afraid. He'd give anything for me. But is that really true? I need to test it. I need to know.

Anxiety kills. What if I am not everything he expected me to be? What if he decides I am repulsive? What if I end up getting hurt again?

What scares me the most is that I need him, too.

I clear my throat to plead, "Take me to your room."

His faint eyebrows borrow, orbs reflecting his confusion, but he takes me by the hands and leads the way. His home is pure shadows. The walls are white and natural. I see no pictures hanging on the walls, no ornaments, no trophies, no contentment but also no depression. There's only a mess on the floor, a few disorderly things and a television. Maybe some things aren't meant to be complex.

He stops at a door, hesitating, as if his silence is asking me if this is really what I want. I encourage him by squeezing his hand. A few seconds later I see a whole new world. A greyer, emptier, faded one.

His room.

The walls are husky blue, as if to match his orbs. The floor is a painting of blobs and cleanliness. Some parts of it are covered with tossed-to-the-side clothes and others are bare. Between the two regions are mere objects: a desk, a bed, a radio, cd's. But one isolated object captures my attention: a guitar- no, two, leaning against the walls.

I point to the acoustic one.

Matt nods, instantly across the room and fetching it. I go to the darkest corner of his room, which is bare, and sink to the floor. He makes his way to me again, like so many times before, and I make sure he's close enough that I can feel his hands move to run over the strings of the instrument.

And he sings me the most beautiful song. One about breathing, one about life and pain and love and sorrow and hate. His voice brings in the emotions; his voice lulls me and rids me of everything.

Distantly, I feel something in my chest begin to beat.

Completion.

By now the song was over. By now he is staring at me with orbs that have dreams. But I do not know what they are. I need to know his nightmares, too. I need to know everything.

I'll decode you, Yamato "Matt" Ishida. I promise.

Blinking, pledging, I smile affectionately at him.

He grins, bliss spreading all over his complexion.

I lean in to kiss him.

And just like that Cerulean begins to slip through years of facades.


	16. Rumor

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Rumor_

* * *

"_Your eyes are gorgeous. They remind me of the rising sun."_

I absentmindedly twirl a lock of my hair around my index finger.

"_I usually hate dawn. The light scares away the obscurity of the night. I could spend forever looking at the stars. But if you bring me your sunlight, I'd be even happier. We'll be underneath the stars, together."_

I toss and turn in my bed.

"_I need you. I always have."_

I scratch my neck.

"_I'd do anything for you."_

I sigh.

Sleep won't arrive. I can't get him out of my mind. After hours the sensation of his lips against mine is still fresh, so vivid. I want him here. I wish he would wrap his arms around me and sing me to sleep. Together the two of us could get lost in the shadow's embrace, sleeping peacefully in the night. One heartbeat, one breath, one mind.

Matt Ishida isn't what he seems. He gives the impression that he's solid, that he'd sacrifice something close to his heart just to make you believe that he doesn't give a damn when in reality he cares too much that it's destructive. He isn't a person. He's half of what he's meant to be. I can feel everything he's capable of doing in a quick peck of a kiss but potential can be hidden sometimes.

Fear can be intimidating. That is why I refuse to be with him.

I remember how he started speaking to me, uttering the reasons why he just can't live without me as if he had been practicing and memorizing them his whole life. I don't doubt for a second that that's the case, but I can't take chances. If that means I'll be alone forever, then so be it.

I don't want to get hurt again.

I don't want to fall again.

I felt it when he held me. Inside he was trembling; inside he was bleeding, confused and lost in a world of void. But if nothing is there to harm you, then how do you know what pain is? I want to know what's behind cerulean charcoals. When he held me, I felt as if I was plummeting toward the ground, surrounded by oblivion. He's not stable enough to hold onto.

But maybe I've always needed him, too.

He numbs me.

He makes me feel gorgeous.

And my heart beats for him.

Matt Ishida isn't what he seems. He's weak and about to collapse.

I don't want to think anymore. I want to get away.

I snap shut my eyes.

Somehow I can never get away from the darkness.

For a while it seems like I did. I went to a world that resembled a nightmare after the haunting happened. Black wallpaper, black heavens, black floorboards and no door. I wasn't sure if I was standing on solid ground or if I was just floating. I felt nothing. I was nothing.

But he brings me back.

The phone is ringing vaguely in the background as I blink a few times before I am fully attentive. I make up my mind to ignore it until I realize that if I don't answer it, my father will, and I don't want to hear his voice either. Ever since he found out that my mom was mistaken about the pregnancy, he speaks in pain, as if he lost hope that he'd one day have a child to be proud of.

So where does that put me?

I fumble around for the black phone on my nightstand.

Can't my father just go away?

I thump my hand against something in the search.

I find the phone and bring it up to my ear.

I wipe away unexplained tears, but for every one that goes away ten replace it.

"Hello?"

"The moon's out tonight."

Matt Ishida.

"It's the most symbolic thing I've ever seen," he continues softly. "It's only out when the sun isn't, but it's the sun's light that gives it the power to glow."

I am nodding even though I know he can't see me.

"You love the nighttime, don't you?"

"It's the best part of the twenty-four hour day. I know more about Space than I know about Earth, I think. I… I know it's hopeless, but I want to go there someday. I've been dreaming for a long time."

A pause. I think I can hear him narrowing his eyes at the darkness.

"Sometimes I think I'm better off up there than down here," he confides, as if it were a truth never spoken before. "Sometimes I think I'd do more good out there than here."

"But it's black and cold and lonely in space," I protest quietly. I can't afford to wake my parents.

"It's like that everywhere."

So… he's trying to say that-

The words slip before I can catch them, "Don't go. Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"What? You're willing to give up on your dreams to be with me?"

"You know that I'd do anything for you."

I take my time to comprehend what he's sacrificing.

"What about music?" I finally ask. "Don't you want to be a musician? You're so talented-"

"I only took up bass guitar because my dad used to play. It's just something I do when I'm bored or just to pass time or when I need to hear ballads being played."

I draw a blank. Maybe the sandman has finally decided to come for me. I can hear Matt breathing on the other end.

"What do you think about when you look at the night sky, Sora?"

"Heaven."

_You._

A small smile forms on my lips in the dark.

* * *

I kiss Matt goodbye on the lips as I go into the girls' locker room. Somehow it hurts just to go our separate ways. Somehow I hate everything that manages to keep us apart. Even when he holds me close he's not completely there. His body's there, but that's just the remains, just an empty carcass. His cerulean orbs aren't alive. He isn't. The clothes on our backs don't help. They prevent us from being one. 

19, 25, 40. My locker combination. My fingers slip off the dial and I have to restart. Other girls come and go, but I remain, attempting to open my locker. It is pathetic how I can't get three numbers right.

Cynthia walks into the locker room, hair flowing back, a familiar bounce in her step. She comes directly toward me, stopping a foot away from me and grasping my shoulder. The sudden touch makes my hand slip off the knob and I have to try the combination again.

"Is it true?" Cynthia demands enthusiastically.

"Is what true?" I calmly ask.

"Oh, don't be so modest."

I make a face.

She sighs.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," I say.

"You and Matt."

Oh.

"Is it true?" she continues.

"That we exist? Yes."

"No, I mean are you two together."

"Not at the moment. Guys aren't allowed in here."

Cynthia laughs and slaps my shoulder playfully. I have to try the combination again.

"Are you two dating?"

I can't prevent the blissful smile that graces my face.

My teammate gasps and giggles, jumping around merrily, as if happy for me.

"That's so cute," she says. "You're turning red."

I raise my hand to my check, forgetting my locker. I turn to face her.

"Am I?" I ask.

She's nodding. "You blush easily."

"Oh, great, so I am as clearly read as a book."

"How did the two of you get together?" she asks, changing the subject.

I tell her something along the lines that he confessed to liking me for a long time and that I found that I like him, too. I don't tell her about the caresses or kisses, or midnight phones calls or words exchanged.

"You're so lucky, Sora," she sighs dreamily. "You get any guy you want…"

I used to think that nothing could be further from the truth, but what if she's right?

I walk away, thinking about how nosy people are. It's funny how you think the world around you wouldn't notice if you died but they know what you're doing, who you're with and what specific time it occurred.

Not that anything has happened.

I regret going to class. It starts out as an ordinary walk to the room, with my ordinary uniform, ordinary hair style and ordinary life. Without Matt. Just plain old _ordinary._

Someone decides to change that.

The minute I step into my class, the people who are already there and waiting for the bell to ring turn their heads in my direction, suddenly hushed. Their eyes follow me as I head for my desk, still on me even after I sit down. I try to ignore it, try to pretend like I am too absorbed in my own little world to become aware of their gawking but it isn't working. They remain silent, as if a cat had stolen each of their tongues. I don't think they are even breathing. I begin to think I have suddenly gone deaf, but that can't be the case. The clock is ticking away the seconds that pass by.

People that are just coming in through the door stop in their tracks the minute they lay eyes on me. The smirks slip off their faces; their conversations die. Embarrassed, caught red handed, they look anywhere else but at me and sit at their desks, adding mass but not noise to the room.

I worry. I cover my face with my hands.

The teacher is also shocked. He comes into the classroom, ready to shush everyone down, but looks into each and every face in the room when he hears nothing, as if searching for answers. Clearing his throat, he, too, goes to his desk and waits for the tardy bell to ring.

But before it does, the guy behind me leans forward in his chair, lips by my ear, and mutters something that changes me.

I look down at my hands, the color draining from my complexion.

The bell rings, marking the end of any dignity I have left.

The first day in Hell has begun.

* * *

I am in a panic. There is no safe place. I run and push people out of my way in the hallways, not bothering to excuse myself. I just need a place to escape to. I need a shelter. I need to get away from the mocking, accusing glances or the whispers. The guy's voice keeps on ringing in my ear, driving me to clutch my hair and rip it out of my scalp. Who knew one word can slaughter innocence? 

The letter 'U' stands for 'you, everyone, and their brother'.

There's a 'T', as in 'toy'.

The letter after the 'S' is an 'L', as in 'loser'.

It begins with an 'S'. Like in 'stupid' and 'sick'.

I bump into someone as I turn a corner. The other person falls, books flying every which way. I scramble to help. My fingers get a firm hold of two text books, a few loose leaf notebook pages while the other person grabs their binder. I kindly look up at them- at her- and open my mouth to apologize, but the scowl on her face stops me. She snatches her belongings from my grasp while I'm confused, wipes off her things as if I have infected them. She gives me a dirty, foul look, sneering a word I've heard whispered behind my back but not thrown directly at my face until now.

"Slut."


	17. Words

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Words  
_

* * *

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. 

What a load of crap.

Or as Matt says: bull shit.

Before, I was always on the sidelines watching as the snobs and jocks slaughtered girls with their words. The graffiti in the bathrooms highlight the important points that make the comments true. It's the written version of their crude remarks. Some people make it their living, even as far as a mission in life. They take permanent markers and write their two-cents worth so that people who are sitting on the toilet taking a crap can dispatch their dump and catch up on the rumors. It's like killing two birds with one stone.

Now I'm that girl and I just can't understand why.

The only question that is able to come out of my mouth is 'why?'.

I spilt my heart of ink upon a loose-leaf sheet of notebook paper during the previous period, which happens to be the second to last class of the day. During the five short minutes we have to get to our next class I give that note to Cynthia for her to read. I am not sure why, but somehow I need to let someone know how I feel. Not a boy. I don't think there's one in this world that would understand. And I don't have very many friends, to be honest. I've been receding into a shell for the past couple of years.

Now even Cynthia even keeps a safe distance away from me. She won't say it but I know it's because she doesn't want to ruin her reputation by being seen with the new school slut. But at the moment even she forgets her reasons and abruptly stops walking, turning around to face me, seeming as if she's shocked.

"You mean you don't know why they're calling you all those horrible things?"

"No!" I seethe. "I haven't done anything!"

"Sora," she begins, giving me a serious look, "when a girl goes out with any of the hottest guys from school back to back, she's considered a slut."

I can't understand and ask her what she means by that, but not before commenting on how stupid the notion is.

"How long did you go out with Tai?"

"About-" I stop at a loss of words. The truth is, I can't remember, but I don't admit that to Cynthia. "The times I spent with him were the happiest of my life," I at last manage to muster.

She only ignores the details. "How many weeks were you single before you and Matt got together?"

"Um," I utter, "I'm not sure."

She raises her eyebrow suspiciously at me.

"Well, it was more than a month."

"You sure?" she challenges.

"Of course! I think I would notice if I had been dumped by my first boyfriend."

"First?" she asks, as though this was new information of me.

I nod my head, not sure if she was mocking or pitying me. Knowing Cynthia, I think I can guess which one it is- a little bit of both.

"And how long have you been with Matt?"

"Why are you asking all of these questions? They're pointless. Like anyone can decide if a girl's a slut by the answers."

With a sigh, Cynthia half waves good-bye to me, muttering, "Don't say I didn't try to help you…"

I grab Cynthia by the elbow before she turns around and demand, "What do you know about this?"

She flips back her straight hair. "Well, just what you know."

"Somehow I don't believe that."

"The truth is going to hurt you."

"Not as much as the lies do."

Cynthia sighs. "Fine, but I warned you."

A pause.

"Well?" I press.

She looks pretty tense. "I'll keep it as polite as I can. They're saying you're easy and that you'd go all the way, even if he is _not_ you're boyfriend or even if you _don't_ know him at all. They say you'll do anything a guy wants- even more."

I'm dumbstruck. Is _this _how people see me or is Cynthia just lying again? If it was one of her schemes, then she must have over half our grade in on it. But it will get worse, I darkly assure myself. By the end of the week even the youngest kids in our school will know everything about me, and just the lies!

Seeing my vague, horrified expression, Cynthia beckons for me to follow her. That I do, but she tells me to keep a few feet behind her, as before. Only, there is no one in the hallways to see us. The tardy bell is about to ring. As we turn a corner I only see a few boys scampering off to their classes before the bell goes off.

Cynthia notices this too and turns around to face me, walking backwards. "Don't mind skipping class?"

I tell her that if this helps me understand what I've done wrong or why people are saying these things, it's all right.

She leads me into the girls' bathroom. The relatively clean tiles match the relatively white walls. I hardly ever step foot in the bathrooms at school- they're too dirty and degraded by curse words. Cynthia points at them, the ones that taint the walls and the stalls.

I hesitantly walk to them.

Distantly, I can hear the tardy bell ring.

I don't have to squint to see. My name is the biggest thing written amongst the graffiti, almost like neon lights.

_Slut! For a good time call Takenouchi Sora. _

I'm amazed and blessed that my phone number is not right under that.

I can feel Cynthia's gaze on me. I expect she's waiting for me to burst into tears. I bit my lower lip and read some more. They all go along the lines of 'rides', beds, backseats, floors, diseases, g-strings and condoms (or rather, the lack of them).

"Is this what every bathroom in the school looks like?" I ask Cynthia.

She's nodding. "Yeah. It's horrible, isn't it?"

I lean against the bathroom stall, exhausted, not wanting to see it anymore. It, or the words. But in the mirrors I can still see the permanent marker stains. The words are rubbing off on my uniform shirt. I feel like they're becoming a part of me.

"I bet it's ten times worse in the guy's bathrooms," I say.

Cynthia raises an eyebrow. "Want to prove yourself right?"

"Huh?"

"Want to see what the guy's are saying about you?" she offers, her eyes beginning to shimmer mysteriously. Adventure? Dare? Risk? Stupidity?

Uh-oh. I know where she's going with this conversation. If I play dumb- retarded, even- I might be saved. 'Might' being the keyword. Sometimes things just lie in the hands of the gods. But how can I be saved when Cynthia is considered one of them?

She asks, "How are you ever going to know what's written on the guys' stalls if you don't go in there and see for yourself?"

"Pay a guy to go in there and give me a first hand account of what he read?" I suggest, knowing it's not what she's looking for.

"All men are liars," my teammate sniffs. "If a woman wants to get something done right she will have to do it herself."

"But that's exactly why this won't work!" I exclaim. "We're _female_ and not allowed in the _boys' _bathroom!"

"Nonsense."

She's already peeking out the door, seeing if the coast is clear. She beckons for me to come next to her. I hesitate. She makes her beckon more persistent. Sighing, I march forward. How do I get myself into these things? Cynthia suddenly grabs my wrist as if I was a child and she was trying to prevent me from running anyway. Well, good, 'cause I probably would have, too. Damn.

"On the count of three we're going to run across the hall and into the boys' bathroom, ok?"

I mumble something incoherent.

"One…tw-"

"Wait, on three or after three?" I blurt out.

Cynthia turns to look at me. "On three."

"Oh."

She peeks out the door and makes sure the coast is clear once again.

"Okay, on three," she whispers. "One…two… three!"

I don't move - my feet are purposely planted on the floor. But Cynthia is aggressive enough that she pulls me forward with her. Everything passes in a blur of brown, from the door's color, grey from the school's tiles and now black as we enter the boy's bathroom. As soon as we're in Cynthia lets me go and holds her nose.

"Ugh, it smells like piss in here," Cynthia groans, disgusted. I cover my nose with my hand as well but don't comment. I immediately go look at the stalls. They're exactly the same as the girls' bathroom only a thousand times worse. My eyes start to burn as I read and I begin to think that lies are always better than reality and truth but since I'm already here I might as well find out how over half the school sees me in their eyes.

It's all appalling.

It's disgusting.

The one that makes me feel most uncomfortable is this one:

_Sora has a fine ass._

I can't find this flattering, somehow.

After a while of staring at stalls and holding my nose, I think I can fill out a log for my reading class about how many words I've read per minute or I can write an essay about hygiene. Maybe even a book, I think as I notice a piece of crap on the floor. Literally. I notice something else, too, on the lowest part of the stall in black letters. It's faded but nonetheless there.

_Cynthia is a stone cold bi-atch._

I stare at it.

I re-read it.

I try to make sense of it.

Cynthia did say she didn't have a boyfriend. Maybe it's because they all think she's a bitch. I almost want to laugh out loud at this. Nothing can be further from the truth. But if I agree with almost everything on the stalls does that mean those comments about me are true, too? The bitch drifts over to my side and examines what I'm trying to make heads and tails of. She huffs after twenty seconds.

"Me, a bitch?" she hisses. "I think not. I'm one of the nicest people they'll ever meet."

I want to cough. I hope she's being sarcastic. If she's trying to make me laugh then it's working.

"They must have me confused for their mothers," Cynthia continues and leaves me alone at the stalls. She walks to the mirrors, trying to fix her hair.

"If I were you, Sora," she says while trying to get her bangs perfect, "I wouldn't put up with this crap. I'd try to make some other whor- I mean skank- look awful so they'd stop focusing on me and concentrate on her."

I bite my lower lip. "I don't want anyone feeling like this. I don't want anyone going through this," I admit.

Cynthia gives off a laugh that reminds me of shattering glass.

"You're so funny, Sora," she says. She must've not taken me seriously.

"The final bell is about to ring," I announce, finally tearing my eyes off the stalls, the words, and heading toward the door. Cynthia follows after glancing into the mirror a final time to make sure she's perfect.

I might not be perfect like her, but my timing sure is.

The second we stepped out of the bathroom (unnoticed) the bell rang, indicating that you can go home. Students pour into the hallways. I see Cynthia wave a small good-bye to me as she drifts off to find her other friends, her followers. I let the crowd of yelling kids push me around. I don't need anything from my locker. All I have is my binder and my dignity.

I feel lost. My palms become sweaty as I look around and see no one that I know. Every once in a while I make eye contact with someone, someone who I don't know but someone who seems to know everything about me because they comment.

"Hey, Sora, every time I take a leak I think about you."

I turn around to see a guy about my height grinning stupidly at his own comment.

"You can't do that while you're peeing, genius," I spit.

"You would know a lot about that, right?"

My scowl drops from my face.

"So it _is _true, huh?" he asks. When I don't respond he shakes his head and says after he's slapped my butt, "Meet you in the backseat of my car, 'kay, babe?"

I wrinkle my nose in disgust and try to get as far away from him as possible. In the minute it takes to get downstairs I hear dozens of remarks about me from people who think I am not listening, and some even have the nerve to come up to me and spit them out in my face. Tired, I only ignore them. I can't beat up every single person who says something.

But somebody thinks otherwise.

As I pass the front office I see a body slumped in a chair, head against the part that supports the person's back.

"Matt?" I ask hesitantly from the doorway.

His head turns. When his cerulean eyes land on me a sheepish grin spreads upon his face as he sits up.

"Hey."

"Why are you in here?" I ask, alarmed. In a couple of long steps I am right beside him taking him by his hand. "Are you in trouble?"

He's silent. He can't look me in the eyes, so he stares at the empty space in front of him.

"What happened?" I repeat. "It was a fight, wasn't it? Are you going to be okay? Who else was involved? Why aren't you talki-"

"I hit him first," he confesses abruptly.

"Why?" My voice comes out in a mere whisper.

A beat of silence. Two. Three. Ten.

And then he says, "He called you a slut."

The tiles beneath my feet are shifting. I sink into the seat next to Matt, my head against his shoulder. I wonder how far he'll go to protect me. I know I should be mad at him for getting into a fight because of me, but somehow the thought of having a protector warms me from the inside.

"You're going to get into trouble with your dad," I say. I feel guilty. It's all my fault. "He's going to take away your bass and your cell phone and he's only going to feed you once a day. On the weekends when he goes to work he's going to lock you in the house…"

Matt smirks at my inanity.

"So who's the person you hit for me?"

The grin wipes off his face. "A bastard."

"Does he have a name?"

"Tai Kamiya."

I shake my head. Even my ears are deceiving me. It can't be. Tai would never utter that word. He's a role model. Tai would never use that word to describe someone, not even me. That's what I tell Matt.

"People change," he says simply.

_Are you going to change, too?_ I want to ask, but don't. If I do ask it might seem like I do want him to change and he would. Reverse psychology can have that affect on people.

I try to sort things out audibly. "He called me a slut, so you hit him."

"Yeah. Right in the face, too."

"Did he hit you back?"

"Nah. He fell over backwards. Some of his soccer friends tried to help him up. I was going to go in for some more put the principle marched right up to us and practically dragged me in here." He brushes off his collar and makes a funny face. "Wrinkled my shirt…"

I giggle despite the situation, but as soon as the laugh dies down I am dead serious.

"You and Tai are supposed to be friends," I whisper sorrowfully.

"We stopped being friends a while ago."

I sit up at the news that has reached my ears. "I didn't know… What happened?"

Matt shrugs.

But I can't take that as an answer. I am persistent. I ask questions until I can't speak anymore. "Friends don't just stop being friends for no reason!" I said again and again. When I finally give up I lay my head against his shoulder again and try to clear my mind. The clock ticks away the seconds that pass in silence. Matt's left. His body's still in the chair next to me, but his heart isn't. It sends a shiver up my shine. I shake his arm.

"Matt?"

He looks at me.

"Why did you do it? I know I asked before but-"

"He called you a slut."

I look down at my trembling hands. "Do you think it's true? That I'm a slut?"

Matt takes my hands into his as if to warm them up. "Of course not! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I feel like it's true, Matt." Tears threaten to fall. "Once they say it, that's the way it feels. I _know _it's not, but it _feels_ like if everyone's saying it then it must be true."

He kisses me on my forehead. "Don't cry. It's not true. Ignore them. It'll die down soon. Besides, rumors run this school… nothing can be said or done."

"Then why'd you hit Tai?"

Matt's faint eyebrows furrow. "It's enough to have complete strangers talking about someone you know behind their backs, but to have someone who is supposed to be their friend join in on the fun? It's wrong, it's betrayal."

He pauses, gripping my hands tighter.

"You can let scum run you or you can let them run each other. Just walk through the hallways like you're the truth and they're the lies. I'll be right beside you."

His words are encouraging. I can already feel myself getting over it, but the world still petrifies me. Sometimes I think the feeling will never go away.

I sniffle. "Why are they calling me a slut in the first place?" My voice cracks at the end of my sentence as though another series of cries wanted to arise.

"Someone people like starting things."

"But why? I haven't done anything to anyone."

"Some people are just bitches."


	18. Ishida

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_ Ishida_

* * *

"When I was five, I used to think that when it rained, it meant the sky was crying." 

Features soften.

"And then when I got older, I heard that when it thundered it meant the Devil was beating his wife."

A blink.

"I believed that when lightning flashed, it was because an angel in Heaven had died. I thought the roar of thunder shook their fragile hearts too much."

A beat of stillness.

"And you know what? I'd rather still believe that than know the truth."

Sometimes I can't understand him. He doesn't want the truth. He doesn't want dishonesty. He doesn't have to have someone there for him, although he made an exception by letting me accompany his silence. Matt only wants the world the way he always dreamed of it as when he was younger.

I guess I can recognize what he's referring to. The world seems so big when you're smaller. There're things you don't know about that you're eager to discover. There're feelings lying dormant, just waiting. There're people in the making to leave footprints in your heart. But as you grow older, you realize that the world only gets bigger, but it isn't as wonderful as you thought. Then it truly becomes life. Then you can get lost or get a head start, only to fall behind again.

But the world was so much nicer when you were a wide-eyed five year old.

Sometimes we aren't together. When the sun is out, it's as if it's there for a reason – to keep us apart. I must admit it's doing its job well. In broad daylight, things don't feel right. The atmosphere is too happy. Somehow, bliss hurts. I can feel it tearing Matt apart; I can feel him telling himself that he isn't worthy of me or the luminosity. Every time I sense this I wrap my arm around his. And every time he grins – an action that seems to be reserved only for me.

It's about to rain. He's pouring out his dreams and thoughts to me, to the contrary when he has his thoughts trapped behind cerulean. I hang on his every word, fearing their end. Everything he says comes out pure – not beaten beyond recognition with lies, not polluted by excess details, not made up crap.

It's nothing but oxygen to me.

Nothing but carbon dioxide to him.

We aren't out walking around town, we aren't suffering at school, we aren't anywhere. We're at his apartment, lying around and just passing time because if we do anything worthwhile, like study or talk about the future, time would stand still.

He has his acoustic, the ballad he's mindlessly playing legato and heavy. I chided myself one afternoon when I realized he wasn't just touching the strings for the hell of it, that he was actually playing what he was feeling, that he was trying to empty a glass of anger, sorrow and void so that he'd have energy for tomorrow. I studied him after I realized that, to see if it actually works. And it does. The next morning he's ready for anything to happen. He has the energy to argue with those he dislikes, has the vigor to laugh and joke.

The whole thing is so cliché, but true.

I'm playing around with my fabrics. While the whole school (well, maybe not all of it, but it sure feels like it) is talking and starting new rumors about me, I am at home, looking through magazines. I feel exceedingly disgusted when I see the models on the pages – they've got everything I don't. Since I'd rather torture myself by pointing out my flaws than to read or do something healthy, I started paying more attention to the clothes they were wearing, until one day I got this ridiculous idea to go out and buy my own fabrics and such, and I've been working on a dress ever since. But I haven't decided what colors I want it to be, so I haven't even started.

At dusk, it's become a habit for me to go over to Matt's apartment (or for him to come to mine, when my parents aren't home) to watch the sunset together. We could go to the beach or to somewhere – anywhere - but I don't want to go out in public, and Matt respects that. Besides, I feel like it's much more private this way. Out in public, where it isn't just the two of us, the other peoples' rustling and laughs get in the way, subtracting from the beauty of silence. Here on the balcony's ground, it's a whole miniature world where only Matt and I exist.

Matt sits on one end of the world, back lazily pressed against the wall, eyes wandering the heavens, an acoustic in hands, strumming away until he opens his mouth to tell me something.

I sit in front of him, on the opposite side of the world, head down and bangs in my eyes, deciding whether I've found the perfect combination of colors or if I have to keep searching. I don't need to look up to see if he's still there. If the soft ballad dies, he does.

Insecure, I once asked Matt why he doesn't look at me, as I do him, out of pure fear that he's abandoned me. He quietly said that as long as he hears me breathing, he knows I am still here.

I wonder what would happen if I hold my breath until I turn the colors of the rainbow, then fade like all rainbows do over time.

"I saw your dad the other day," Matt suddenly says. I look up from my creation, meeting curious blue.

"You did?"

He nods. "I was on my way into the coffee shop and he was coming out. He didn't say anything to me. I guess he didn't recognize me."

I wonder what my father was doing there. If he wants coffee he always asks Mom to make him some. I know, because one day, I remember, Mom got mad and threw a dish towel at him, yelling, "Why don't you make it yourself? I'm not your damn maid!"

I ask Matt if anyone was with my 'dear' father.

"Nah. He was alone."

This leads me to believe my father was probably meeting someone there. But who? Automatically, my mind pictures a younger woman waiting for him patiently at a table, waiting to order when he arrives.

Another thing I can't understand: how Matt knows what's going through my mind without asking questions to draw that conclusion. He asks me if things are better at home.

"It's been getting worse between them. My father is growing restless. Despite everything he's said before, I know he doesn't want to be home any more. He wants to travel the world like he did before. He wants to be somewhere else. Far away, for sure."

I sigh. Across from me Matt has stopped playing and is listening intently to what I'm saying.

"I wish he would go away, too. He isn't helping; he's just provoking the worst in my mom."

"So then why's he here?" Matt asks. "Is he blind enough that he can't see the fire he's helping start?"

"I'm not sure. I guess… they're trying to hold on to their pasts. Mom told me once how they met, how wonderful it was. She said they met during college. It was perfect, she says. She was admiring the garden, or something, when she glanced up and first saw him – my dad. She says it was love at first sight.

"Now I wonder why they don't just look at each other again, and I mean truly, not just some shallow glance or disgusted look. Maybe all they need is to see each other in a different light, and they will fall in love again."

I hurry my last few sentences as if I am running out of breath. It doesn't matter, though, because deep down, in some part of me that I didn't know existed but somehow knew was there all along, I know that won't happen.

And maybe Matt has read my mind again, because he doesn't comment, or ask another question, or offer support. It doesn't matter. I have a question, anyway.

"They're just tired of each other… so why is my mom trying to hold on to what they have? Why is she trying so hard to make it work between them if she doesn't want it?"

"Maybe your mom doesn't want to be an old woman, a divorced woman. I guess some people would rather be in a crappy relationship than to admit they were married but it failed miserably, and it ended in divorce." He looks up at the sky. "I guess my parents didn't care about all that. They had it made, you know. Two sons, a cozy apartment and growing careers. But my dad says that they couldn't get along anymore. And they didn't want to lie to me and T.K. that everything was fine…"

"Does it still hurt?" I ask quietly. "The divorce… does it still bother you?"

He pauses, thinks for a quick second, and then shakes his head, saying, "Nah. The memories are fading. I'm almost grown up anyway – why should I care?"

I can literally feel the plain truth in his words. If my parents divorce, I hope I can be as strong as him. I threw away my blades. I have him. I'm ready.

"Are people still saying things about you?" Matt asks me, staring at me in the eyes as if he can decipher whether I'm telling the truth or not.

"Well, not to my face," I say. I think I responded well. It wasn't a yes or a no. Quieter, I continue, "I think you scared some people when they heard you punched Tai…"

"And they should be, too," Matt says, cracking his knuckles. I can't tell whether he's serious or not.

"Cynthia told me you broke Tai's nose," I blurt, overcome with guilt. "Is that true?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "And since when do you listen to Cynthia?"

"I don't… I mean, I'm her friend, but-"

"_Friend?_ You never noticed her spreading those rumors about you?"

"What?"

Matt stares blankly at me, shocked. Despite my revulsion and disbelief at what I've just heard, I must admit that he looks too cute when he's confused.

"You mean Cynthia started all of this…"

"Yeah…"

I feel like I am spinning. The world stays still but I am about to collapse. Between my dizzy spell and trying to remain conscious, Matt comes over to me and holds me, telling me it will be ok – words pass away, too. But somehow I can't stop these damn tears. Why should I care if Cynthia started all of this? It's not like she's my friend. But I thought she was, I really did. My naïve mind must have let its guard down and let stupidity in. False hope.

I don't know how long Matt held me, stroking my hair and letting me ruin his shirt with my idiotic tears. When I feel like I can't cry anymore, I sniffle, like so many times before, and smile shyly at Matt, trying to apologize. He shrugs it off, telling me that crying is good because if I don't, I'll get an ulcer. I start laughing immediately, my head throbbing from weeping, still. My stomach churns on cue, as if it's reminding me of something I have wanted to ask Matt for a long time.

"Are you ticklish?"

"No," he replies casually.

Instantly, I reach out and tickle his sides with my fingertips. He breaks out into a grin – one that's reserved for me and only me. He laughs like he's never laughed before in his entire life. Cerulean brightens up, pale skin earns some color. He tries to get me to stop, but I keep tickling, and it only ends when he pulls me into a kiss. A long one. A passionate one. Then he tickles me as he kisses. As much as it pains me, I push away from him, laughing so hard that I fear choking.

Matt's silent suddenly. I look up at him, wondering what he's staring at.

I look up to where he is pointing. We missed the sunset, and now a black coat is covering the blue sky. Since we're in the city, we'll never see a single star. But, for some reason, there's one lone star vaguely glowing. I'm about to suggest that it's just an airplane, but I know the difference between scrap metal and a hopeful light. It's a miracle – a star is actually seen in the city's night sky!

"It's beautiful," I gasp.

He's nodding in agreement, but he isn't looking at the star – instead his gaze is on me, stormy eyes shimmering under the moon's pale glow. But is that really an effect of the moon? As soon as he blinks, the shimmer isn't there anymore. His orbs are back to its original lifelessness. He looks up at the sky again, and I miss his gaze on me.

"And if you stare at it too long," Matt whispers, "it'll disappear."

I have a feeling that he isn't talking about the star.

A few auburn strands of hair fall into my eyes. Instead of tucking them behind my ear, I leave them there.

Matt walks me home – he's constantly looking around as if a car can run onto the curb and hit us.

And I wait.

My hands are in my pocket, my left one playing with the needle. A dull pain spreads throughout my finger as I prick myself with it. If it was on purpose or not, I can never tell.

And I wait.

As we saunter, I notice how unstable Matt Ishida is.

And I wait.

Something's just about to break.

And I wait.


	19. Unstable

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity _  
Unstable_

* * *

She is patiently sitting at a table that only seats two, just like I have always imaged her to be. Only, it isn't easy for me to _not_ like her. A light pink coat is wrapped around her, with a set of snow boots to match. I can't tell anything from the jeans she's wearing, and I can't tell anything by the way she sits, but the way her make-up is done, the way she amiably smiles in unspoken good wishes to random strangers is enough for me to come up with the conclusion that she must be a wonderful person. 

I didn't suspect it to be her. Honestly, I didn't. I was shooting for those obnoxiously loud women on the other side of the café to be her. Or maybe that snobby-looking lady bitching to the employees about how they messed up her coffee. But not her.

She's too pure.

She's too kind.

She's too damn _young_.

Maybe she's not as young as she seems. She can't be. My father would never do such a thing as cheat on his wife with a woman that's barely older than his own daughter. I'm guessing she's in her late twenties or early thirties. Or, I hope.

I don't start hating her until my father walks into the café, shivering from the cold of the outside world. She immediately stands up and waves him over to her. Breaking into a true grin, he makes his way to her and they kiss each other in greeting. It's not a decent public kiss on the cheek, a small hug, but a let-my-tongue-meet-your-tongue kiss, their bodies pressed against one another like some sort of sick star crossed lovers epic.

As much as it disgusts me, I don't allow myself to look away. If I want to prove myself right then I can't let go and charge at them, yelling. I can't make a scene. My father can't recognize me. I have to keep a low profile.

It's one of those moments where Matt knows what I'm going through. He takes my hand into his, whispering, "It's okay; it's alright." I nod to let him know that I heard him, but up until this point and time, I forgot he was even here beside me.

The pair sits down at the table she picked for them. Maybe later I should thank her for sitting in the chair that lets me get a good look at her so that I can commit her façade to memory and live the rest of my life hating her.

I can't get over how young she looks. Either she is barely legal or she has had a few botox injections. Or she has perfect skin, and in the history of her life, she's only had one pimple. Maybe it's the makeup. Cover up. Her lips are burgundy – possibly from the need of being kissed, possibly from lipstick.

The soft russet locks of straight hair fall into her likewise orbs, and she hurriedly pushes them behind her ear so that she won't miss a thing of what my father is saying. I don't know why, but my father talking to her actually makes her smile. Ugh, flirting at their age? Ew.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" I ask Matt, squeezing his hand. "Well? Huh? Can you?"

"Um," he says, "no."

I think he senses my disappointment, because he adds a faint, "Sorry."

My father reaches across the table and gets hold of that woman's hand and gazes into her eyes affectionately. I can tell because she's positively glowing.

"I can't believe it's true," I say to no one in particular. "My father's cheating on my mom with… _her_."

Matt stays quiet.

I know that that woman is better than my mother.

We stay there for a few hours. I'm amazed at how diverse my father acts around this woman. He's much less reclusive, as if he only crawls into his shell when he's around my mother. Like she's some horrible embittered woman that beats him down when he's already wounded on the floor, bleeding. My parents barely speak now, and when they do, they speak through gritted teeth, with a hint of disgust in their voice tones.

This new woman is all smiles when she's talking to him, and visa versa. Even from a couple of tables away I can feel her warm soul brighten the wintry atmosphere in the café.

"My only question is why she wants to be with _him_," I explain softly to Matt. "_My_ father! Doesn't she know that he has a wife and a daughter?"

"Maybe she doesn't care," my boyfriend says, and it stuns me into silence.

"She figures that if he really valued that, he wouldn't be with her." He pauses. "Or she doesn't know about you or your mom."

I like that last reason the best.

They laugh; they take turns telling each other about their day, and all I can think about his how I want her to vanish, to just expire and go away like an unwanted memory.

I can't take it.

The last straw is when they get up to leave. My father helps her up from her chair and, hand in hand, they head for the exit like the jovial couple that they are.

I can't stand it.

"Sora, what're you doing?" Matt hisses under his breath as I leap from the table, charging for my father and the other woman.

Faintly, I sense him following me.

"Dad! What are you doing with _her_?" I shriek, undignified.

The couple before me turns around. My father's grin drops from his face the moment he realizes who I am. The woman doesn't react as I expect her to. Instead of demanding what's going on, instead of slapping my father and storming out, she lets go of his hand and hesitantly steps toward me, in awe. She doesn't stop until she's close enough that she can see the pores on my face. She's staring into my eyes, marveling, whereas I can only glare daggers at her, hoping she'll get the message.

Beside me, Matt is confused, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

My body tenses up when she touches my hair, as if wondering if that's really my natural color, if they're real.

"Sora Takenouchi?" she asks softly.

I feel like I've just taken a hit. Backing away abruptly, I counter her with one of my own questions: how does she know my name?

"Your father's told me so many wonderful things about you," she replies.

The harmony in her voice is killing. How can someone so radiant do something so immoral?

"You play tennis and you're amazingly thoughtful," the woman continues. She speaks as if she's known me all my life. "And you're just as beautiful as your father said – even prettier than the pictures he's shown me."

I glance over her shoulder only to see my father standing there, in distress. My lips tighten into a thin line of disapproval as I see that he's not even trying to explain himself. Doesn't he think I deserve an explanation? What about Mom? Fueled by resentment, I push the woman aside and march up to my father.

"Why don't you bring her over for dinner so that we can talk about how she's ruining my life?" I sardonically insist. "Maybe Mom will make the best damn meal she'll ever make, just for the occasion. I'll invite my boyfriend over, too, and make out with him in front of you."

The last part is what gets to him.

"You'll do no such thing!" he hisses.

"Okay, fine," I retort, "Matt and I will just go to a hotel and have sex."

My father's face turns red – out of sheer fury. I try not to laugh. Frankly, I never realized that making my father exceedingly infuriated would be so entertaining. My delight dissolves when my father seizes me by the wrist and holds on tightly – too tightly. I try to snap myself away from him, but it's not use.

"You can't see him anymore!" he screams, right in my face, "I forbid you!"

"And I forbid you of seeing that woman!"

"Sora, that's different! We're both adults and we know what we're doing! We can do as we please and there's no one to tell us otherwise."

"What about your wedding vows?"

He doesn't say anything.

"What about Mom?"

I see my father's eyes look over my head. I hope he's coming to his senses. He better be rethinking his relationship with that woman.

"What about me?"

He lets go of my wrist. "I don't love your mother anymore, Sora," he admits painstakingly.

Incredulous, I snap, "And you love that woman?"

As he nods his head slowly, I let out a gasp of air.

I stand there numbly, stupidly, as my father and that other woman take their leave. I don't see my father holding his car door open for her to get in. I don't see him running around to the driver's seat, getting in, and then slowly driving away. I don't see anything.

A warm hand delicately lands on my shoulder. I turn my head to drown in vacant cerulean.

"We should go," Matt says, his voice bringing me in deeper to oblivion. Even quieter than before, he says, "People are staring."

I don't look around to meet the bizarre stares we're getting from the other people in the café. All I do is try note every detail of Matt's façade, trying to find out how he truly feels about me. But more questions only pop up. Do I still feel the same way about him? Have I ever felt that way toward him?

* * *

I've never seen Tai Kamiya seething before. It's after school. The halls are empty, and just as Matt and I turn the corner to walk down to the first floor and exit the building, Tai comes into view. He's solemn, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his text book on the floor next to him. When he sees us, he pushes himself off the wall and heads for us, determination in his stride. 

"I want her back, Ishida," he says, but I can hear the growl in his throat. "She belongs to me."

It comes to realization that he's talking about_ me_.

"She's not a possession," Matt snaps. "And if she wanted to be with you, she'd go. But as far as I can see, I'm the only one she lets put an arm around her shoulder."

Tai's hands form into fists. "Sora doesn't like feeling unloved – that's the only reason she's with you. Sora doesn't love you. She's just hurt and confused at this point in her life."

"You can't tell her how she feels."

"I'm not. I _know_ how she feels."

Matt lets go of my hand, then presses down on my shoulders if telling me to stay put. He pushes Tai back from me, who scowls.

"Don't push me, Matt."

"Oh yeah?" the blond pushes him again. "What're you going to do about it?"

Smirking, Tai puts his fists into use. Matt's hands fly to his face, but he doesn't fall back.

"That's for punching me the other day," Tai says. Angrily, his fist flies to Matt's face again. "And that's for lying."

Blue narrows into stilts, and before I know it he's fighting back.

I can't hear myself scream for them to stop. Helplessly I merely watch as they wrestle and grunt curses at each other. My name is said every other second, in between those time frames they take turns punching each other. In the back of my mind I want to laugh – this reminds me too much of soap operas, something I thought would never happen in my life. Only, I don't giggle because this isn't funny. Irony sucks.

Before I know it I'm trying to hold Tai back from tearing Matt apart. It was so much easier when we were younger, but now they've matured into men and I'm still small, fragile.

Tai suddenly relaxes, stops struggling. Everything stops. Neither of them is going at each other like sheer enemies. It's hushed. Matt snorts in Tai's direction, brushing his sleeves off, but then he does a double-take, cerulean on me. Uncertainty and hurt is played across his face like the excruciating acts that they are.

My cheeks flush a vibrant pink out of embarrassment and absolute discomfort from the situation I find myself in. My arms are tightly wrapped around Tai's waist from behind, our bodies rubbing against each other. How must this seem to Matt? I let go of Tai and back away, still fuchsia.

That's all it takes to break the stillness.

There's no warning. Tai charges at Matt at full speed, ruthlessly kneeing him in the stomach. Matt sinks to the ground, the wind knocked out of him, clutching his abdomen and squeezing his eyes shut as though he was in pain. Tai, however, doesn't seem to care. He picks him up by the collar and impressively punches him in the face, then lets him fall backwards on the tiles. Though he can't breathe, Matt stands up, pure disgust in his otherwise astonishing orbs.

If I ever saw Tai with a book outside of school, I'd be surprised, but I never thought I'd see Tai use it as a weapon. Picking up his seemingly forgotten text book from the floor, he doesn't hesitate to swing it at the blond. Then, when he doesn't go down, Tai slams it repeatedly against his face.

As I run toward Tai to stop him, I see him smash the book against Matt until the blond loses balance and his head hits the stairs behind him with a loud _thunk._ I stop dead in my tracks. Like an echo of the past, I can hear his limp body roll down the stairs and then stop as he reaches the landing.

Tai Kamiya just stands there silently, looking down at what I presume to be Matt.

In a few short strides I'm next to him. Matt Ishida's on the floor below us. I consider the way the dim light makes him seem paler than he already is. More lifeless, less lively. I stare, afraid to move toward him out of trepidation that I'd do more damage to him.

He's not breathing.

He's not moving.


	20. Veracity

Author's notes: I would like to thank the best beta reader ever, Veranda, for helping me with this chapter. I recommend her stories, especially one called "In Between Time"!

* * *

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Veracity_

* * *

"Oh. Shit." 

Tai Kamiya starts to breathe noiselessly beside me, slipping out of his rage, the illusory blindfold covering his eyes falling to the floor so that he can see what he's done.

"Oh. Shit," he mutters again.

Letting out a gulp of air, the brunet carelessly throws the text book aside, then places his hand over his heart, as if asking it how it could have let him do such a thing. But as I look intently at him, it's clear that he wants to care, but it's as if he doesn't know _how _to anymore. It's obvious that he doesn't realize that the guy lying on the landing before is – or was – his best friend

I reach out and lay a hand on Tai's shoulder, saying, "We should get him to the nurse."

He looks at me for the first time in what seems to be months. I can't really say. Time doesn't exist in space, where Matt dwells, where I've followed him. The sensation of being under Tai's gaze washes away all the feelings of dread that are buried in my chest. It's like being under the sun. I can feel the light kissing my skin, I can feel the heat and astonishing silence, but I have no idea why it chooses to shine on me when there are so many other worthy people.

"I don't think he's breathing," he says tensely. "Did I kill him?"

I hold my breath in and glance back down the stairs. Matt Ishida hasn't moved. He doesn't appear to be doing anything.

"We'll never know if we stay up here."

Tai nods. He's the first to descend the stairs. I follow suit, wondering if the thud of our footsteps will forever echo in this hallway.

It scares me that as soon as we're less than a foot away from him, there's an appalling sense of coldness coming from Matt. It's like a balloon with a tiny hole in it where the air is being let out, or a pipe leaking dangerous gasses into the atmosphere. The expression on his face is very peaceful, as if he were lying in a coffin.

I bend down to lay a hand on his chest, just to see if he's breathing. A faint thumping tingles at the end of my fingertips, making me shiver. Finding the sensation too strong, I move my hand in front of Matt's nose. Very, very faintly, I feel bursts of air every few seconds.

"He's alive!" I exclaim, at the brink of joyful tears.

But Tai decides to waste time and stare at Matt's motionless body. He doesn't say anything, but I know he does want to help him. He has to. I have a bad feeling about this – he's thinking too much. I can practically feel his mixed emotions.

"Everything would be so much easier if he were dead," the boy I once knew mutters.

I'm sickened.

"How can you say that, Tai?" I demand, raising my voice. "No one deserves to die! And who would it be easier for? You? Do you want to go to prison? Do you want your family to go through that? Or do you mean it would it be easier for Matt's family? Would it be easier for me?"

Despite my outburst, Tai doesn't say anything. He just stares vacantly as I try to check Matt's pulse. That done, I realize there's nothing more I can do. Tai seems to be out of it just as much as Matt is. I can't carry him myself – he's much too big for me. I bury my face in my hands, ashamed, defeated.

"Let's go," Tai's voice comes gruffly after what feels like twenty minutes, and I glance back up only to see Tai sliding his hands under Matt's armpits and trying to drag the blond down the next flight of stairs. Worriedly, I watch. What if Matt wakes up suddenly and starts screaming, maybe even tries to hurt Tai? But, somehow, I'm more concerned for him. Tai's carelessly dragging him, letting Matt's feet hit the steps hard.

I suppose I could help by carrying Matt's feet, but what if I slip and get hurt, and cause more damage? So I decide to help by running ahead to the nurse's office, hoping she's still there and clearing my head.

It's much easier to remain thoughtless.

"Nurse!" I call into the seemingly empty room after I've swung the door open without knocking. "It's my - Matt! He's…" By now I can't speak.

The lady that took care of the wound caused when Cynthia cut me with the tweezers appears out of her smaller office. I can see her wide, concerned eyes glance behind me, and her mouth forms into a little _'o'_ of surprise and alarm. I turn around myself and see Tai struggling to hold up Matt in a cautious way that a friend would, but it was hard, apparently. The look on the dark boy's face says it all. He looks as if he wants to vomit.

"He fell down the stairs," Tai explains quickly, balancing his nervousness and guilt. "He wasn't looking where he was going – you know, fooling around with things he shouldn't have been near. He was saying reckless stuff. He wasn't looking where he was heading."

Although the quiver in Tai's voice was obvious, the nurse actually fell for that.

But there are some truths behind those words.

"Maybe you should keep him unconscious," he even suggests. I know it's wrong, but I want Matt to be unconscious too – I will not be able to stand looking into his eyes and hearing him blame Tai for his injury.

"Oh, my," the nurse coos. "Usually, in these circumstances, we want to revive the patient. Help me get him inside."

I step aside, realizing that I am blocking the doorway. Tai comes through, and I can tell the strain on his muscles is terrible. He sighs in relief after he rests Matt on the bed, and then immediately makes his way next to me.

"What's his name?" the nurse inquires, pausing to pick up her clipboard. Tai tells her, and she scribbles his name in readable cursive. When she finished writing some other things down, her comments, I think, she lays the clipboard down on the counter. Quickly, the nurse immediately begins looking Matt over.

"Did he hit his head?" she asks us as she feels Matt's scalp.

"Maybe," Tai sighs.

"Yes, he did," I say, and then give Tai a look, asking him why he's acting like this. Why can't he channel out his feelings?

After ten beats of silence, the nurse says, "He's bleeding a bit on the back of his head."

A horrible, appalling bubble forms in my stomach. I wince, clutching my stomach. It's all I can do but scream.

"Want us to leave?" Tai asks.

I don't hear what the nurse says. Tai's rustling to put an arm around my shoulder and lead me out of the office scratches out all sounds, even that of hope. We're back in the dark hallway again, only this time it's quiet, a loud silence looming around the light bulbs on the ceiling.

"No," I rasp. "I have to stay. I have to see what happens. I have to."

"You're stressing yourself out," he says gently, "Don't worry. Matt will be okay. A little trip down the stairs won't kill him."

It sounds as if he's just saying it to reassure himself. I want to believe it, but my pessimistic mind roams elsewhere.

"What if it does?"

Tai stops dead in his tracks.

"Oh shit," he breathes, voice filled with sheer anguish. "Shit. Shit!"

When I get the courage, I turn to face him. In a mere second he's gone from calm, to anxious, to downright culpable. There are actual tears glazing his chocolate eyes, his lips are formed in a thin line of misery. How many ways are there to describe guilt and regret?

"What have I become?" Tai whimpers. It seems as if he wants to hide.

When it comes right down to it, I realize, no one is strong. No one is stable. We're all fragile. It just takes something very fierce to kill us from the inside. I seize Tai by the shoulders, trying to shake him out of it. As much as it pains me to look into his bleeding eyes, I do.

"You're not a monster, Tai," I insist. If I can't be impervious for myself, then I will be for Tai. "You just made a mistake."

"If he dies…"

I suck in a gulp of air. "He won't. You said so, and I believe you."

It occurs to me that this might be the only time I will ever see Tai Kamiya vulnerable. Or, I hope. I hope and hope and hope and hope, but will anything ever come out of it? Please, someone, send me a sign.

"We'll go see how Matt's doing in a while," Tai says, but there is no optimism for his ex- best friend in his voice. I wince at this, wanting to ask why he's sending me mixed signs on what he truly feels.

Shaking, I hold on to him for dear life, as if letting go would be fatal. Frankly, I don't care where he's leading me as long as I don't stay in this school or anywhere near it. The very thought gives me a massive headache.

The school hallways turn into city streets. The deafening silence changes into a mixture of cars rushing by and footsteps pounding against the cement. The only thing that doesn't change is the atmosphere. The sun is shining its grey beams just as the shadows in the hallways seem to glow.

"Do you still like swings, Sora?" Tai asks as if he doesn't know me anymore.

"Of course," I breathe.

Tai steers me in another direction. At first, I'm confused. The buildings are unrecognizable. The sky is a shade darker, and the cement is deathly pale. If I stare intently enough, I can see it twinkle like the stars in the night sky, or I can see the gleam of grief in Matt's cerulean eyes following me.

I hastily look up.

And here we are again – at the isolated playground. The shades of darkness emerge, painting our surroundings with shades of grey and black, the colors of depression and void. The reds, yellows and blues on the other jungle gyms are faded, like they haven't been used for years. With our green uniforms on, we are the only sources of life, but even this loses its value. The wind is howling, carrying the distant laughter of children that must have disappeared while playing.

Tai helps me got onto the swing I always sit in. It hasn't changed. It's still cold to the touch, black seat unused since the time Tai and I were last here, when everything was normal, when he first kissed me-

"Want to fly, Sora?" his voice has a splash of adventure, of hope.

Grasping the chains that hold the swing up, I nod.

"Hold on, then, and don't let go."

He pushes me. Automatically my stomach churns at being hoisted up to the sky, at being so far off the ground. The seconds pass abstractedly as Tai keeps on pushing and I keep reaching new heights. My auburn eyes don't look anywhere else but at the shaded in sky, wondering how I can think of its beauty when it makes things look so pale. I want to let go of the chains, fly into the heavens and never come back. But in my mind, when I let go I fall to the ground, only I never reach it.

I'm falling.

Forever.

"Stop!" I shout. "Stop pushing me! I… I don't want to fly anymore."

When the swing rocks to a stop, Tai's in front of me, asking uncertainly, "Sora?"

I look at him closely. His exterior hasn't changed, but it's what's inside that counts. His skin is still tan, his hair is still dark; his chin is held up high. But the eyes… the eyes are different. They're like devastatingly melting chocolate.

"Tai?"

"I'm here, Sora."

"You've changed."

"You have, too"

"What happened to us?"

"I don't know."

A pause.

"I missed you, Sora."

I want to ask him questions: why did he disappear from my life? Why did he change? Why did he do that to Matt? Why is he still by my side?

But the only two that are most import are asked, "Why aren't you and Matt friends anymore? Why did you hurt him?"

"Do you want me to lie or tell you the truth?"

"The truth."

He sighs, "Because of you. He liked you; I liked you. It was stupid. And, I'm sorry for what I did to Matt, honestly. I realize now I was being selfish." His eyes lose focus, if only for a second. "I wish we didn't have that fight. I wish I hadn't hurt him. I wish… I wish I could go back and redo everything…"

The answer is too broad. Other questions pop up, but none of them are said. I think I know the rest of the story.

"Did you call me a slut?"

I can visibly see guilt swell upon his handsome face.

"Yeah," he admits. "I was mad at Matt for being with you. I was mad at myself for being so frail in the first place. I was mad at you for… everything, I guess. I didn't know what I was doing or saying anymore."

A pause.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

It echoes indistinctly in the empty playground.

The wind kicks up again, moving the swings and making them creak inharmoniously.

I don't think I need to say something to let him know I forgive him – he knows me all to well. I reach up and gently trace his eyes, looking for a bruise my eyes can't detect. But there's nothing there. Maybe it is true what people say: bruises may heal but they'll always be there.

"I need you, Sora," Tai confesses, grasping my hands as if trying to keep them warm. "Please. Come back to me."

"I'm sorry," I somehow say, standing up quickly to walk away. "I'm with Matt – I mean…. I mean, we can't get back together."

"Why?"

His voice comes out pained, as if he's already broken.

We're face to face now, almost breathing on each other.

"I love you Sora, I really do. I broke up with you because I thought you didn't love me back. The thought was killing me. I couldn't deal with it. Having you in my arms but not having your heart ruined me. I couldn't think. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't function anymore. I had to either get rid of the feeling or live with it slowly killing me. Sora, you know me - I don't have the courage to fight things I can't see or know anything about. I've never loved anyone like I love you. Ever. Honestly, it scares me. I feel so hopeless-"

I cut in, "Tai, you're not-"

"Wait. Let me finish."

A pause.

Tai seems to breathe uneasily as he continues.

"Remember that day when we skipped school just to spend time together? How the two of spend the night on the couch? You let me hold you while you fell asleep. It reassured me that you love me too. You still do. I can feel it. But back then, I couldn't handle it that you didn't say it. Words mean so much. I… You don't trust people easily, Sora, did you know that about yourself? So I kept on thinking, that if you could feel comfortable sleeping around a guy and completely trust him not to try anything, you must really care for him. And you let me, Sora. Me. You let me hold you close while you closed your eyes and relaxed, and the only thing I could think of was how beautiful you looked."

I'm looking down at my feet as he speaks. I can't handle the heartache reflected in his eyes. But when he lifts my chin up with his hand to make eye contact with him, I don't see anguish, I see love. Pure, heartfelt, deep, warm, tender love.

"And you're still beautiful," he says softly. "And I still love you."

A second glance is all it takes. I gaze right into those chocolate eyes I love so much and the world blurs as I fall against his chest, his arms automatically wrapping around me. I breathe in deeply, as though it's the first gulp of air I've had in the time we've been apart. The warmth that's disappeared steadily returns. An empty part of me has been filled. My heart begins to beat again; the acidic blood in my cold veins livens.

Closing my eyes as I feel him kiss the top of my head, I murmur, "I missed you, Tai...Olivejuice."

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Author's notes: this is the last chapter. Stay tuned for the epilogue. Please review and tell me how this chapter was! Thanks!  



	21. Epilogue: Darkest Corners

**Crisscross**  
By: Stained In Negativity  
_Epilogue: Darkest Corners_

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In reality, there is no dark corner. There is no door through which we can enter another person's heart. On that illusory door, there is not a lock for with which we can keep ourselves safe from intruders. 

There is no safe place.

There are only ways of scarring others. There are ways to find out what makes a person who they are. There are ways of getting under someone's skin.

Take for example, the sun-kissed girl.

There are crisscrosses. There are scars that fade and remain just as if they haven't healed once before. There are rips in souls, just as there are holes in fences and spaces between rusty metal bars. There was the persistence of memory, of love and hate, of what could have been, of what will never be and what shouldn't have been. There are blades with their owners' names on them like gravestones. There are winds that carry whispers of words left unsaid.

There was the sound of music and the gift of silence. There was the reward of life and death, of unstable or self destructive ways, of laughs and smiles. There was the ear piercing sound of glass shattering on the floor. There was the heart shattering way of saying good-bye before saying hello.

There are people to think about in the sun-kissed girl's history:

There was a blond who took the sun-kissed girl out of this world, who got under her skin. Without hesitance he told her everything about him, things that he never even knew about himself. It was he that gave her the harmony in her auburn eyes; it was he who cherished her as if she were a fragile doll.

There was the girl the blond turned to when the sun-kissed girl broke him. Her name was Cynthia. The blond was knocked unconscious, and ever since that exact moment in time the sun kissed girl has never seen him the same. It was just a walking corpse. It was just a blue-eyed star gazer needing to be loved, turning to the closest thing with a beating heart. Only, he should have reconsidered, because Cynthia most certainly does not have a heart. There is not much to say about her. She was a traitor, a deserter. A liar.

In her heart, the sun-kissed girl hopes her rival does not drain the blond.

There was the '_I'm sorry' _that the blond rejected from the sun-kissed girl. There are the hateful stares. There is the silent '_I loved you'_ and '_I trusted you' _that lived in those glances. There was burning of past kisses, there was bleeding and crying, but never did death take its toll.

Of course, maybe being with the blond was a mistake. The sun-kissed girl didn't know what she was feeling. She just wanted to be loved by someone. Perhaps, somewhere within her that she didn't know existed, she loves him more than anything or anyone.

There was the chocolate eyed one who made the sun-kissed girl new. He made her capable of love, as she did him. There were kisses; there were embraces that touched the soul. There was the break-up, the time when she didn't know what she wanted and where he couldn't recognize himself anymore. There was the apology, new kisses and hugs, their last night together where they saw and felt each other without the layers of clothes in the way, where they saw what was in one another's hearts and minds. When it was just faultless skin on top of flawless skin.

It will be true love until the end.

Until the end - the one that came much too soon.

The sun-kissed girl has a father. One that isn't as perfect as she once thought of him to be. Built strong, he never thought his weakest moment was deceiving the love of his life, the mother of his only child.

The sun kissed girl has a mother. Weakened by a life of being alone, she wouldn't accept it when the truth was murmured. She gave her husband an ultimatum. He would both leave the other woman and take her and their only daughter along to wherever his career demanded him to be, or he could stay with the other woman and never hear of or see his daughter or her for the rest of his days.

The answer, of course, was obvious. Later, the choice would disturb the sun-kissed girl, for she finds out the only reason her father picked that was because he didn't want to lose his daughter. She could never learn to return the love her father offered.

There's the present time to consider:

There are boxes in which she has packed everything. Absolutely everything, except for the one thing that matters. The tears can't stay, words can't be taken back, glances can't be exchanged, and the ending cannot be changed. Perhaps in her mind, it can be altered, but she's never had the chance to live nor dream so it is impossible to decipher reality from fantasy.

It's so simple, yet complicated.

As much as she wants to hide in that dark corner of her room, she can't. The mirror shattered. Bloody Mary can't hurt her anymore, but the memories of her can.

He, the one with chocolate eyes, stands on the curb, the sheen in his eyes replaced with the gloss of tears. The sun-kissed girl can see his heart shattering; she can feel her own throbbing with unbearable pain. She thinks of opening the car door and running to him, but she has gone numb to the fingertips.

The car slowly springs forward. Tai's eyes widen in fear. She can suddenly feel and waves her last good-bye, which he returns with a weary gesture of his own. She hoped that her father would change his mind and stop the car, but everything that he planned seems to be going right. Her only company now is the hot tears that drip down her cheeks, staining her beautiful face. There's a sting of hope for a moment when Tai runs after her in the middle of the street, but he soon tires out and stops, helpless, staring in defeat.

'_I'll wait for you'_ seems to be reflected in his distressed eyes. She mouths an '_I love you'_ as the car turns the corner.

Against their wishes and dreams, that's the last they see of each other. Soon after, Tai's family moves too, and the sun-kissed girl's father does not tell her when the boy calls. He never tells his daughter when she receives letters from Tai. His name is never spoken again in the Takenouchi household.

Perhaps one day they'll bump into each other in the city streets; perhaps one day they will find each other when it's too late.

There is a raw way to say good-bye before saying hello.

In reality, there is no dark corner, nor is there anything else but it.

There is a way to remain silent yet scream.

Perhaps in her mind the ending can be altered, but the crisscrosses will fade, only to somehow remain engraved in her skin as though they never healed.

A sigh. Close those auburn eyes. Don't cry. Don't tell anyone of the sun-kissed girl's comatose heart.

I am Sora Takenouchi, and my life has fallen apart.

**/Fin/**

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Author's notes: the end. This is the longest story I've written. Thanks for reading! If you like these kinds of stories from me, you'll be glad to know I'm writing another story - it's not as dark, but still has traces of it. You can request couples, too. For now, please review. I'd like to hear your honest opinion about the overall story. Thanks again! 


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